Reweaving Fate Through Destiny
by Lalaith Quetzalli
Summary: -Continuing from Gift of the Stars.- The Tapestries of Marked Ones Thorin Oakenshield's and Bilbo Baggins's Fate torn asunder, a new future began writing itself in Arda, one much similar, and at the same time, much different, to what the Valar might have once intended. And it was all thanks to her, the Gift of the Stars... the Lost Guardian. (Will go into Lord of the Rings).
1. Guardians

This is to be a series of short stories (relatively) following Gift of the Stars. The main pairing remains Thorin/Bibo; though others will be added in time, like Kili/Tauriel, Aragorn/Arwen, among others. Still, the main point of these stories isn't so much the romance (though there will be some of it), but all the ways Eleana's choice changes the future, and not just hers anymore, but Bilbo's, Thorin's, Gandalf's... (you get the picture).

Each short story will be focused on one character. None will be in 1st person POV, but still, the fact remains.

For the first fic we'll have Gandalf. Everything mentioned here that predates the Hobbit is heavily based on the Silmarillion (with slight modifications here and there to fit this universe).

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Guardians<strong>

Gandalf had known Eleana for as long as she'd walked the world, beginning at a time when he had a very different name, an ancient one, truer to his essence, his own origins; she, for her part, had always been Eleana, child of the Stars, their messenger and gift.

He could still remember back then, a time shortly after the lighting of the stars, the same that had put the light in the eyes of the Firstborn, when the odd creature had taken form before their very eyes. No one in Valinor had ever seen a child, all the Firstborn to exist at that point had woken up fully grown, and there would be a while before the Secondborn (all three races of them) joined them in the world created by Éru's will and the Valar's songs.

Yet there she was, a starling, most called her, though from the very start, the very moment her eyes had opened, Varda, Valië, wife of Manwë, Lady of the Stars and Queen of Valinor, had given her the name of Eleana, which meant Gift of the Stars...

It was odd, with Eleana being so much smaller than everyone else in the world, and not only that; there was also her absolute fascination with everything around her, even the simplest of things, like rain, the sky, the flowers and trees. She would take turns following anyone she could around, asking all kinds of questions about the things they did, their lives and even just the world around them. And somehow, the bright smile that illuminated her face whenever one of her questions was answered made it so they never tired of doing so.

She hadn't stayed a starling forever. With time she'd grown, her body becoming that of a mature woman, even as she gained the ageless factions of the immortals. Her skin was an almost luminescent white, her hair shining silver; but it was her eyes that truly gave her away, as they shone with the light of her star-self. She always wore white or shades of blue, her favorite colors, and a self-reminder of what she knew to be her true home. Most called her a Maia, as none but those who'd been present on the day of her arrival knew the truth of her origins; the fact that Eleana had once been (and at her core still was) a star.

She was a gifted child in many ways, all the Valar adored her, and after the Awakening of the Elves, she seemed to focus on passing on all that love. It came as no surprise then, when she became so close to them, especially Alatariel, a blonde, blue-eyed she-elf. The real surprise, though, came after the Teleri massacre, when the elves were exiled to the land of Arda, on the other side of Belegaer (the Great Sea), and Eleana chose to go with them.

Gandalf, known as Olórin back then, had tried by all means to convince Eleana to stay but it was impossible, she'd grown to love the firstborn so much she couldn't bring herself to letting them go and, in the end, no one tried to stop her from going.

Still, Eleana proved that she wasn't one to forget her origins either, or her first family. And all the way to Arda she sang, for the Trees that had been consumed by Ungoliant, for the darkness that had threatened her home, and once the Moon lit up the sky, for that as well; her song reaching all the way to the Halls of the Valar and to Nienna, the Valië in charge of saving what could be saved of the Light of their world. Nienna's Hope, some came to know Eleana as, for that fact.

Little was known of what Eleana did during the following Ages, from her arrival to Arda with Alatariel and the elves, all through to the coming of the Sun, the Awakening of the Secondborn (men, dwarves and hobbits). She'd been known throughout the land by many names, though most still agreed on Eleana; she was also called Messenger of the Stars, for the message of love she carried with her from Aman.

Olórin did not get to see his friend again until sometime during the Second Age of the Sun, after the War of Rage and the banishment of Melkor into the Timeless Abyss. She didn't seem to have changed much in that time, still the same kind, compassionate starling; though her skin had gained a golden hue, the kiss of the sun, she called it; and her eyes had gained the shadows that could only be earned after witnessing too much pain, death and suffering. It was only to be expected, kingdoms had risen and fallen in the ages since the lighting of the moon; and yet the Ístari couldn't help but feel there was something wrong about a being like the starling losing the innocence that had been so characteristic of her. Back in Aman. And yet, she was still so full of kindness and love, it seemed almost impossible.

Gandalf would be the first to admit he had never truly bothered to know Eleana. Back in Aman she'd been the Valar's protege, the Starling... and since the Awakening of the Elves she'd been so devoted to them, it was almost impossible. The other Ístari called her Cundoheri, the Guardian-lady, for the way she looked after the Children of Ilúvatar.

Her attachment to the elves was no surprise, considering her friendship with Alatariel who, at some point, had changed her name to that of Galadriel. Her regard for the first race of the Secondborn, Men, could also be explained with Elros, the first of the Númenorean Kings being a descendant of another of Eleana's old friends: Melian (the Maia). Her love for the other two Secondborn races, Dwarves and Hobbits, was another matter entirely. She'd tried to explain it to him once, how amazing the hobbits could be, with their simple lives, their love for the land and all things that grow (and how much they reminded her of the Valië sisters Vanna and Yavanna)... and the dwarves, who loved the land just as much, except the stone, rather than the trees, their need to create marvels from all kinds of stones (and their own reverence for Aüle, whom they called Mahal, their creator).

All races were equally important and special in the eyes of Eleana, and even if it hurt her, every time one of the Secondborn she'd come to know and care for, passed on; that didn't stop her from doing it all over again.

It was during the War against Sauron, at the end of the Second Age, that the wizard finally got the chance to know her better. He also learnt what it was that fueled her almost-need for guarding over all of Éru's children.

"Remember do you, the day I was given life?" She asked him softly, in that ever-serene and so-soft voice only she had.

"I remember." He nodded.

"Remember do you, the gifts I was given that day?" She inquired next.

"All of them..." He began, then revised. "Except..."

"Except that of my Lady Varda and the Lady Vairë, no one knew what they'd given me." She said with the hint of a smile.

"What does that have to do with anything?" The Wizard asked her, confused.

"What can you remember of the day before the elves and I left Aman, before the Rising of the Moon?" She went on, ignoring his own question.

"It was chaos. The loss of the trees hurt greatly, and then with the Firstborn leaving and..." He stopped abruptly, as if noticing something. "You were nowhere to be found."

"I was called to Valmar shortly before we were to leave." Eleana answered simply. "They wished to reveal to me more of my Destiny, in a way they hadn't been able to explain before."

"Your Fate?" He asked, with them speaking in a mix of elvish and the Ancient Tongue it was easy to confuse words sometime.

"No, destiny." She corrected him. "It was not an imposition, nor woven for me. It is something I chose of my own free will."

"What was it you chose?"

"You know what I find very interesting?" Once again she was ignoring his questions to explain things at her own pace. "You Ístari have called me Cundoheri..." She stopped when seeing the surprise in Olórin's eyes. "Yes, I am aware. Few things get past me, if you ought to know, Olórin. I have been blessed by Lord Irmo, as well as the Lady Vairë, after all." She smiled at him. "What I find interesting, is how accurate your chosen name for me is... for I am indeed a Guardian. By my own choice, I have been tasked with guarding the Children of Éru to the best of my ability, and how could I ever chose otherwise after knowing Alatariel, Melian, Lúthien... after seeing their children? And what's more, I am also the Guardian of the Marked Ones..."

"The Marked Ones... Those Marked by Fate?!" He took a deep breath. "It was my understanding that only the Valar could identify them..."

"That is usually how it is, but I've been granted the Sight, it allows me to identify Marked Ones, as well as bonds."

"I see. What does that have to do with anything?"

"What is going on right now around us, what happened at the end of the First Age of the Sun, and time and again before that... every time the Darkness has tried to take over the light... Lady Vairë has known. It was all written in her Tapestries. That's also how I know this won't be the Final Battle, not yet. Battles will keep coming, and Heroes will be chosen to fight them. Marked Ones will come and go, shaping the world as they go."

"Of course. What has any of that got to with you Eleana?"

"I am to watch over the Marked Ones, make sure the Darkness doesn't find them before their time comes and..."

"And?" He had a feeling what was coming was the truly important part.

"And one day, I am to tear the Tapestry of one of them."

"What?!" He hadn't seen that one coming, no one could have.

"That is my mission, my destiny. To choose the Marked One who shall be freed of their Fate, and hope that they will, in turn, tip the balance once and for all."

Hope that someone, after being freed from the Valar-given-Fate, instead of running away, would choose to stay and fight by their own free will, and possibly save the world? Those were high hopes for anyone, and in all his years the Ístari couldn't say he'd ever met anyone that would be that brave and selfless (or perhaps just foolish).

"Why you?" He asked her, almost as an afterthought.

"It is my Destiny." She reaffirmed simply.

He probably wouldn't have understood, if she'd tried to explain him that she loved all of Éru's children so much that she was willing to do anything to help them. Even if that meant having to witness so much pain, grief and death... because she hoped that, one day, she would be able to take at least some of it away. And it would be worth it.

He still hadn't understood it, not really, and he wouldn't for several thousand years...

**xXx**

The next time Gandalf saw Eleana (and by that time he was properly Gandalf, no longer Olórin, though the elves would usually call him by another name, Mithrandir), was a little over three thousand years after what was called the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, which had happened in the battle against Sauron at the end of the Second Age, the same which had robbed him of a body and decimated his armies.

Many had hoped that would be the last they would ever hear from the old servant of Morgoth... though some knew better, like Gandalf, and Eleana.

"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth."

Those had been Elrond's words, when Gandalf himself, the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, and a thirteen dwarves lead by Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror (the last King Under the Mountain) had shown up in Rivendel after a number of near-misses with trolls, orcs and wargs. Even then, the wizard hadn't fully realized the implications of those word until hours later, when he came face to face with the White Council.

He'd presented his concerns and his suspicions before the members of the White Council there reunited, even though deep down he'd always known it would be for naught. The group wasn't what it'd been at the beginning, right after Sauron's Fall and the loss of the One Ring. Formed by the five Ístari, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond, for the realms of the elves, as well as Lady Eleana, as the Guardian-Lady. Gandalf knew that the brothers, the Blue Wizards, would have listened to his suspicions, they always had; Radagasts's own words would have been more than enough proof, regardless of how... quirky, the Brown Ístari might have become in recent years. Then again, there was a reason they'd both been lost for many years. Rumors had it they'd died in battle against Gundabad, centuries prior.

So all that remained of the one great council was two elven lords, two Ístari (for the other one, while still alive, hardly ever left his forests) and one lady of the stars who'd seen fit not to reveal herself through the whole discussion (though Gandalf knew she was there).

He'd known from the stars they wouldn't believe him, just as he'd known things needed to be told anyway. The Council needed to be aware of the danger...

The sudden departure from the dwarves got everyone moving; Elrond and Saruman leaving the meeting, deciding all that needed to be said, had been said, and still not convinced that there was really any danger they needed to worry about.

"You will follow them?" Galadriel asked Gandalf, when only they remained in the pavilion.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in the Gray Wizard as he answered.

"You are right to help Thorin Oakenshield." The Lady of Lothlórien declared. "But I fear this quest has set in motion forces we do not yet understand. The riddle of the Morgul blade must be answered. Something moves in the shadows, unseen, hidden from our sight. It will not show itself, not yet. But every day it grows in strength. You must be careful."

"Things have been set in motion, yes, but it wasn't Thorin, son of Thrain who did so, no, they were set in motion much longer ago..." A soft voice announced.

The two turned in time to see Eleana, in her traditional garb of metalic-looking overdress and white pleated skirt, hair cascading lose down her back.

"Eleana..." The two whispered, bowing their heads at her arrival.

"Yo did not reveal yourself to the other two." Galadriel chided her gently, showing she too had known the Guardian was there.

"I did not." Eleana confirmed. "I wished to know their thoughts, without having them depend of what I might know for fact." She shook her head gently but with lingering sadness. "Never had I known Elrond to be this blind..."

"You speak of Elrond, but what of Saruman?" Gandalf couldn't help but ask.

"He's not being blind, only stubborn." Eleana deadpanned. "He wants so much for Sauron not to be back, that he refuses to accept he might be. Believes that if he denies it long enough that will be enough to stop the darkness. It's the same with Pallando's and Alastar's disappearance; as long as he doesn't declare them dead, they're just missing."

"So they are dead." The words coming from Gandalf weren't really a question.

"You know the answer to that already." Eleana replied.

Indeed he did, they both did.

"Know you do, anything else about what is to come?" Galadriel asked her oldest friend suddenly.

"Alatariel..." At times Eleaa would revert back to the old names, as if looking for comfort in them. "You know better than to ask such questions."

"You know a great many things..." Galadriel began.

"... and from those you do, you reveal very little." Gandalf finished for her.

"Silence can be as revealing as a hundred words, sometimes more." The Guardian whispered.

They would make of that what they may, it wasn't like Eleana was revealing anything more. Still, they knew the truth: she knew, she knew and wasn't telling them. But that was alright, there was a reason she had the gifts she did, may she make good use of them.

"I must go now." Eleana announced then, turning to look at Gandalf. "May we meet again before the end, my friend."

It would be until much later that Gandalf would realize that the words had been meant just for him; a different message had been shared with Galadriel, one he wasn't privy to.

Eleana disappeared then, as swiftly as she'd arrived (it seemed to be a talent of hers), leaving Gandalf and Galadriel once again alone. He made to take his leave, when the elven lady called him back one more time.

"Mithrandir?" She murmured, turning to stare at him. "Why the Halfling?"

"I don't know." The Ístari admitted, even as he thought it over. "Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folks, that keeps the darkness at bay." Eleana had taught them that, taught them both. "Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me courage."

"Do not be afraid, Mithrandir." Galadriel whispered to him, suddenly very close.

A promise to be there for him when he needed her followed, not that Gandalf had ever doubted it. In the years he'd had to know Galadriel he'd come to hold her in very high regard; he could see why Eleana's friendship with her might have pushed her to choose to leave Aman.

It was something Gandalf had tried to do in the last three millennia. He'd traveled across the land, trying to get to know the beings living all around, trying to discern what it was about each of them that made Eleana so devoted to her duties, to her destiny. In that time he'd come to see the growth of the Elves, how they were no longer the same war-loving beings that had destroyed themselves over blood, jewel and land; they'd learnt, had grown. Men, so painfully young, with such short lives, the wizard doubted they would ever truly learn and be able to move beyond their violent ways. Dwarves, with their hearts of stone, their passion for jewels, and at times the sickness that clouded their minds and turned their hearts to ash; and even then, if one were to see them while shaping stone and jewels, they would see in their eyes the same passion that existed in those of their creator, Aüle. And then there were the hobbits, halflings as others called them; never before had Gandalf met such wondrous creatures, with such small, soft bodies, yet there was such strength in their hearts, minds and souls that Gandalf couldn't help but admire.

Yet, he could have never imagined the depth of love and bravery that could be in the heart of a hobbit, until he heard the speech given by Bilbo one day:

"Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have." He told Thorin calmly. "And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books. And my armchair. And my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back... cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

Gandalf was sure in that moment that he would, no matter how much it might cost him. And it was in that moment he realized, with wonder, how amazing even the smallest person in the world could be. He may have chosen Bilbo Baggins, being one of the few hobbits who had a wish for adventure in their blood, the build to be useful as a burglar, and hopefully the strength he'd known their race capable of. But it was until that day, after hearing him speak those words in response to Thorin's question of his return (when apparently the halfling had been planning to leave the company just before they fell into that goblin cave). There was indeed more to Bilbo Baggins than anyone knew, even he, and even Gandalf...

**xXx**

It was less than a season before he saw Eleana again... and even then, he didn't fully realize what it might mean, what her last words to him back in Rivendel might mean.

She was in the ruins of Dale, playing with a bunch of children in clothes so big for them it was obvious they were cast-offs of some kind (it would be until much later that he would learn that Eleana had arrived to Dale the day before, carrying a spell-lightened pack full of second-hand clothes she'd collected along the way and had handed over to the children and the elderly to better protect them from the biting winds of the coming winter).

The Guardian-Lady saw him right away, yet didn't pay any attention to him, instead choosing to continue playing with the children for a while longer, until their mothers called them for supper. One even offered her a place, which Eleana declined graciously before finally approaching Gandalf, face flushed with the recent activity.

"I don't think I'm surprised at all to see you here." He declared.

"Indeed, you should not." She declared, with the same serenity as always.

Gandalf knew she was right. So much had happened in recent days. He still felt shivers whenever he remembered Thrain, the Wraiths and everything else that had happened in Dol Guldur. Lady Galadriel had kept her word, assisting him when his need was greatest, as did Elrond, Saruman and Radagast. Eleana hadn't been then, but considering what had happened in LakeTown with Smaug, that was probably understandable. Already he was hearing people talking about all they owed to the blonde lady that had arrived just in time to help them. Even Bard Blackarrow, who some had taken to calling Dragonslayer (for he'd been the one to take down the fire-breathing creature), and seemed to be acting as temporary leader to the survivors of LakeTown, looked to her for council every so often.

Things hadn't been made any easier with the arrival of the elves, only more complicated, Gandalf might say. Thranduil was so focused on recovering what he believed belonged to him and his people... at least Bard had a right in saying that he and the people deserved a share from the treasure inside that mountain. Thranduil was just being difficult.

Gandalf had actually been hoping that Eleana would help him convince them to stand down before they all ended in a useless war, when he found her playing with the children.

"It does my heart good to see you well." Eleana told him quietly. "My apologies that I wasn't there when you needed help the most."

"The way I see it, the people here needed help as well, and I had assistance already." Gandalf told her calmly.

It didn't occur to him until after he'd said the words, but she probably had known that beforehand, and had made her own choices accordingly.

"What now then?" He asked her. "Smaug is dead, Thorin is King Under the Mountain..."

"Not yet." Eleana interrupted, an odd glint in her eyes. "Not until the Arkenstone is found..."

The Ístari wondered briefly what it was she knew that he did not (A lot, as it turned out. He would never forget the shock he felt the moment the halfling placed that small package on the table, in between Thranduil, Bard and himself, revealing the Heart of the Mountain).

"I wonder, if we were to call others for assistance, might we be able to prevent this upcoming storm?" He asked, more to himself than to her.

"A storm is coming, whether we may wish for it or not." She answered him anyway. "And while some of the parties are still on their way, no one else you might wish to call will get here in time to change the outcome any. No, the one who can tip the balance at all is already here, though the right moment for that hasn't yet come."

It was Bilbo, as he would find out that night, when the hobbit revealed himself, having slipped away from Erebor with a level of sneakiness even Gandalf hadn't believe him capable of.

"So, what then can we do now?" He asked, his old friend.

"Wait." Eleana admitted with a sigh. "It's all we can do at this time."

Gandalf didn't like it, obviously; but he was wise enough to realize she was right. There really was nothing else that could be done for the time being.

His thoughts strayed then, to his recent past, his time in Dol Guldur, Thrain's death, but most of all, he couldn't help but think about Galadriel's defense of him. All she'd done, all she had risked, especially using the power of one of the elven rings against Sauron and his Wraiths... she was no Warrior, or at least, he did not think he was...

"Is she a Marked One?" The question passed his lips before he was fully conscious of it.

"She?" It seemed to take Eleana a moment to understand. "A... Galadriel?"

The Ístari nodded.

"In a sense." She nodded, before elaborating. "Those marked by Fate can be meant for two tasks: a Warrior and a Guide. Most of the Warriors who survive their quests go on to become Guides for the common-folk, or even other Warriors. Except Alatariel, she's special in the sense that, while Marked, she was never meant to be a Warrior, only a Guide. She knows it too."

Yes she did, and still she'd chosen to fight, for her friend...

"Do those Marked always know it?" The Wizard couldn't help but ask next.

"Not always, not even most of the time; unless they are gifted by especially keen Sight or told by someone who knows." Eleana shook her head.

"And what about me?" Gandalf inquired. "Could I be Marked and not know it?"

"No, though for entirely different reasons than the ones I'm sure you're thinking right now." She told him. "You cannot be a Marked One, for you are not one of Eru's children... at least not in the same sense elves, dwarves, men and hobbits are. You are part of the Choir, an Ainur; and as such Fate cannot bind you. It's what makes you capable of so much good... yet also the same degree of evil." She let out a breath. "It's how Melkor became what he wished, by his own will, with most Valar being none-the-wiser until it was almost too late. Same with Sauron. It's the risk that goes with every Maia and Vala; having as much potential for evil as they do for good. Not many are capable of standing up to temptation."

"What about you? Aren't you the same as a Maia?"

"Not at all!" She laughed lightly at that. "You and some others may choose to view me as such; but deep down we both know what I truly am. I'm a star, and I live for my Destiny."

Gandalf got the feeling she'd just shared something vital with him, but couldn't fully grasp what it might be. He wouldn't until the moment the choice was made, Destiny was fulfilled and a certain star rose back to the skies...

"Do you know why I like so much playing with the younglings?" She asked suddenly, a wistful tone in her voice. "And not just here, but everywhere I go?"

Gandalf did not answer, though he was sure the answer was obvious in his expression.

"They're free, and innocent." She answered softly. "They see the world in simple terms. Know nothing of the cruelness so many are capable of. As long as they have something to eat, a roof over their heads and are able to play, that makes them happy. They have no need for treasures, great lands, titles, or anything else adults complicate their lives with."

"Hobbits are much the same." Gandalf couldn't help but point out.

"Indeed." She agreed. "It's one reason I like them so much, even if their own rather closed society makes it harder to be welcome there. I am much too different from them..." A sigh escaped her. "I have seen much in my life Olórin... some might say too much. War, hunger, pain, grief, death... and things even worse than any of those. There is so much darkness in this world... it tires me out sometimes. Saddens me, that after all these years, all these ages, darkness is still so strong, and all of Eru's children keep suffering. Wish I could hold them all in my arms, keep them safe from everything. But I know I cannot." A single tear slid down her cheek. "It's at times like this when I feel most my age. I'm older than any elf, older than all but those who came into this world after Ilúvatar created it!" She shook her head. "It's also at times like this that I seek the younglings, their simple outlook on life and easy laughs make me happy. Remind me that no matter how terrible the darkness might be, there is still Light, and it's just as strong. And it's for this Light that we must continue fighting."

Indeed, that was a good reason to fight.

**xXx**

The next day had been chaos, in more ways than one. Bilbo was supposed to be safe! But of course he wasn't. Of course the foolish hobbit would slip out of the bed Bard had given him in the remains of Dale and slip back into the Lonely Mountain to face Thorin when he realized who exactly it was that had given the men and elves his precious Arkenstone. If Gandalf hadn't been so terrified for the halfling's life he would have wrung Bilbo's neck himself!

And, of course, Eleana was nowhere to be found. That one didn't really surprise him actually. She had stated, more than once even, that she was no warrior, had no training at all; therefore staying around when a battle was taking place was more likely to make her a liability. He also suspected she was somewhere nearby, watching and waiting.

That last thought at least was confirmed hours later. Gandalf was still reeling with everything going on: Thorin and his Company had finally left the mountain where they'd guarded themselves since the night before, going out and fighting alongside the dwarves of Iron Hill, elves of Mirkwood and the men of Laketown. Then Thorin himself had lead a small party to Ravenhill, intent on slaying the Pale Orc, hoping that would give them an advantage against their enemies. What no one could have expected was how a new hoard of enemies was approaching from the North, they would be entering the battlefield from Ravenhill of all places!

Gandalf had gone looking for Thranduil, wanting him to send elves there, least Thorin and his kin die (as would the rest of them afterwards, most likely); only to find the King of the Woodland Realm giving orders for his people to pull back! To retreat and leave the men and dwarves to their fate?! How could such a thing be?

Then, as if that hadn't been enough of a shock, there was Bilbo's latest show of bravery (though the wizard was beginning to wonder if it wasn't more foolishness instead), when he announced he would go to Ravenhill, to warn Thorin and the others of the coming enemy.

"You'll never make it!" The Wizard snapped, practically terrified for the halfling's life.

"Why not?" Bilbo truly seemed to take offense to that.

"Because they will see you coming, and kill you!" Gandalf tried to reason with him (even though he knew it would be next to impossible).

"No, they won't. They won't see me." He sounded oddly certain about that, enough to make the Ístari wonder, not for the first time, about what the hobbit might have found in the goblin cave.

"It's out of the question!" The Ístari snapped, choosing to push other thoughts aside for the time being. "I won't allow it!"

"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf." Bilbo told him softly.

And that was that. There was really nothing the wizard could do to stop him, and he knew that, always had. Still, he worried. After all, it was his fault that Bilbo had ended up involved in any of it, he was the one who'd gone looking for the hobbit, calling on his Took curiosity and thirst for adventure. And how many times had the hobbit almost died because of it? It was also unlikely that the Company would have ever been successful without him.

In the end, there was no time to think much about it. A battle still needed to be won...

The first thing Gandalf did as soon as the battle was over (mostly, some were still hunting down the stragglers, but the worse was past) was look around for the company. It took him no time to realize that at least a third of them was still missing, Bilbo included. It was also in that moment that he caught a glimpse of light on the stone steps leading to Ravenhill, like the reflection of light on metal... it could have been a sword, armor, or a number of other things, and yet, his instincts (quite sharp after so many years) told him it was none of those.

He arrived to the top of Ravenhill, to the edge of the frozen fall, to witness something that he never, in all his years, would have imagined possible:

Light called him to that spot, ribbons of light in every color of the rainbow... he knew what those were, how could he not? Bonds, sacred bonds... the thought made him rush even more. When a soft, melodic voice cut through the wind:

"Ah Elbereth Gilthoniel! Listen to me Great Mother of the Stars. In this place, and at this hour I call upon you, to allow Vairë's tapestries to be rewoven, Mando's pull to be canceled. A call for this life to be blessed, for this change to be made. This is my choice, my fate, the gift given to me, to pass on to whom I will! This is my choice. As I will it, so mote it be!"

The Ístari just stood there, behind a number of dwarves and two elves, all frozen in shock as well (though they did not notice him). They all stood there, watching the blonde star-eyed woman who had just pronounced those words. And then, to their further surprise, Thorin sat up, and while his clothes were reddened with blood (no little of it obviously his) there was no wound on him. The shock was so great by that point that there apparently none left when dwarven-king and hobbit-burglar decided that was the best moment to kiss.

"What have you done...?" Gandalf wasn't even conscious of his own words until they were out of his mouth, that was how far his shock went.

Dwarves and elves turned to look at him in surprise, though he paid them no mind, focused as he was on his old friend.

"I've made my choice..." Eleana stated quietly.

Her voice sounded odd then, almost as if fading, as if she were fading... and it was then that the wizard noticed that she truly was; her body slowly turning into tiny sparks of light.

"The Tapestry of Fate shall be rewoven by the Hand of Destiny..." She murmured, her tone completely at ease, as if she weren't vanishing right then, or maybe as if what was happening had been part of her plan all along. "Arda's future is in your hands now..." Her face turned to the sky, eyes wide open and the brightest of smiles on her lips. "I go back to my home..."

Her body fully turned to stardust then, and it rose into the sky, truly returning the Gift of the Stars back to her place of origin, her true home...

Abruptly Gandalf remembered so many things she had said over the years. About her being a starling, her Destiny, her tiredness, and home... she truly felt that way. There had been a time when he hadn't understood how Eleana could be expected to one day fulfill her mission, if it would mean ceasing to exist. Except she didn't see it that way; and even if she did, she was tired, had said so herself. She was going home indeed...

"Namarië Eleana Cundoheri, Gift of the Stars, mellon nîn (my friend)..." He whispered softly, his own eyes to the sky. "I will look after them now, I promise..."

If only Gandalf had known what his promise (and others being made) would bring...

And unknown to him, in several point across Arda, individuals left whatever it was they were doing to turn their own eyes to the sky, sending prayers for the safe deliverance of their once Guide, Colleague, Friend, back home...

* * *

><p>Every short-fic from here on will focus on one character and the way they see the world that is being created anew by Eleana's choice. You're welcome to suggest people you might like to see. Also, if there is any specific idea or scene you would like to see (or see me change), I'm open to them!<p>

While this fic (as all others in the last few years) is being posted both here and in AO3 at the same time, here I'll be keeping all the short stories in one single story to make it easier for my readers to follow. Hope you'll enjoy!

I'll try to update regularly, every week, but I promise nothing. It'll all depend on my muse.

Please don't forget to review!

Next chapter: Tauriel!


	2. Starlight Path

Not sure if I said this before but, as must be obvious, I don't own anything of 'The Hobbit", all of it was created by Tolkien, and belongs to whoever inherited the rights. Also, Tauriel belongs to her own creator, though I did take some liberties with her character and a few others.

Never before Tauriel had we seen an elf with that hair-color, and it got me thinking. Not sure when, how or even why I ended up with this idea in mind, but I liked it, so it's become my Tauriel headcannon, hope you'll like it.

I've called Dís's husband Vili because I've seen that name used pretty often for his character around here and it was easy to remember, it's not that relevant in the grand scheme of things (just easier than to always be calling him 'Kili's father' or 'Dís's husband' or anything else).

No one has mentioned but I thought to take a moment to clarify on a few details concerning Kili's survival during the Bo5A. It was a coincidence, happenstance if you will, and nothing more than that. Not because I didn't want to save him, because I did, very much. But there was no other way than this. Eleana's character, the way I built her story, could only save one person, and that was always going to be Thorin. But I care too much about Kili, and love his pairing with Tauriel, so I just had to save him. (You can see it as the Valar manipulating events in a convenient way, but in the end, it wasn't Eleana's doing, so it did not count as the Tapestry she tore). I care a lot about Fili too, I just couldn't find a way to save him too and, hard as it might be to admit, his death does work as a catalyst for a few things (you will see in the upcoming one-shots).

Having said all that was needed, for now. On with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Starlight Path <strong>

She's one of the Marked Ones, has know it since she was a mere youngling. Naneth (Mother) told her, and she would know, she had the Sight. Even then, Tauriel had never thought much about it, what it might mean to be Marked. Not until shortly after she entered her seventh century and met him... the dwarf.

Tauriel's history was already complicated, before adding her odd connection to the somewhat tall (and handsome, whatever others might say) dwarf. She didn't need any more trouble... Apparently the choice wasn't hers to make.

It was the one thing she'd always feared. Whenever she allowed herself to think over her status as Marked One. The one thing she imagined anyone in her position would fear: losing their free will. She thought that was what was happening, at first. When, against direct orders and her own common sense she began talking to the dwarf, liking him (there was something about the way he spoke of his mother and the rune-stone he couldn't seem to be able to stop playing with); and then when she saved his life from that orc at the river's gate... when she was so worried about him she spun an elaborate excuse to follow his party (and the orcs, because of course, that was supposed to be her objective) to Laketown. And then she was standing in that wooden house, with her prince ordering her to follow him, and the dwarf... Kili moaning in pain due to the poison in his blood and she made her choice (and it was her own), she stayed.

That was the end, of everything she knew, her old life... yet also the beginning of something else, a new life... apparently the one she was always meant to have.

She would never forget, the words he'd pronounced in his delirium, even as she focused all her energies on healing him. She'd tried so hard, as it wasn't easy, healing did not come as easy to her as it did to other elleths (she-elves), which was only to be expected, after all, she wasn't pure.

"Tauriel..." He had murmured.

Her name came from his lips almost like a prayer... never before had she heard her name spoken in such a tone, not even from those who had professed to love her. And while he heeded her command to lie still, he didn't stop talking.

"You cannot be her. She is far away. She is far...far away from me."

It took just a few words for her to understand he hadn't realized she was truly there; in his delirium from the poison in his blood he believed her to be nothing more than a mirage... a part told her it was for the better, after the roars she (and half of Mirkwood) had heard coming from the Dwarven King, it was better if the young-one didn't know her to be truly there. The others surely would understand if she asked them to keep her intervention in secret. It's not like the lack of knowledge would be hurting anyone.

"She walks in starlight in another world." Kili continued. "It was just a dream... Do you think she could've loved me?"

The words hit her almost like a stab in her chest. She wasn't sure if his delirium ought to make the words stronger or weaker. After all, it wasn't like he knew he was truly speaking to her; yet at the same time, and for that very reason, he had no reason to hold back, to fear retribution of any kind. She just had no idea what she was supposed to do...

Not that she got to think much about it, for suddenly there was a dragon, and roars and fire everywhere; and all she could think about was getting the dwarves and the human children to safety as swiftly as possible.

Things only seemed to go downhill from there. With the boy vanishing so abruptly and with no explanation. It took every effort on her and the dwarves' part to keep his sisters from bolting after him (though later on she learnt there was a very good reason for his leaving and they would all probably have died if it weren't for the boy's courage). So much death, so much suffering, and the fire... only the knowledge of the lives that depended on her allowed her to remain level-headed through the whole ordeal (and, in no small part, Kili's reassuring presence beside her).

When he'd asked her to go with him... she couldn't breathe. For one moment, one crazy instant, she actually considered climbing into that boat with him and the other dwarves, following him into the Lonely Mountain and whatever might have been waiting for them there (and she knew, even back then, it wouldn't be easy). Then she'd sensed her Prince, Legolas Thranduilion, standing behind her, and the moment was broken. For as much as she might feel for the young dwarf (things she dared hardly admit, even to herself), she still had too much respect and loyalty for her prince to just abandon him, especially when it was her idea not to return to Mirkwood when the King commanded it.

She wouldn't say she regretted her decision, as much as a part of her wondered if she would have been able to help somehow, when the siege had happened (she hadn't been there during it, not until the battle was well under way, but had heard enough stories, about the armies that had stood before Erebor, the refusal from the 'King Under the Mountain' to parlay, and the crazy stunt the halfling had pulled in an attempt to stop a fight from happening). It wasn't that she believed herself to be that great a diplomat (and for all she knew, Thorin Oakenshield might have thrown her off that wall herself the moment he saw elves as enemies), but it still felt wrong that the halfling had had to suffer so much (even if he didn't see it that way).

Bilbo Baggins... she'd never met a hobbit before him, yet something told her, he had to be extraordinary even among his own people. Everything he had achieved... She'd heard the songs, and if even half of them were true...

In any case, Bilbo Baggins wasn't her concern, not even his lifemate: King Thorin Oakenshield (and as shocked as most elves were, she considered herself more open-minded, even in the face of man-man relationships and just took it in stride). No, her concern was her own to-be-lifemate: Kili, son of Vili, Heir to the throne of Erebor... and his mother.

The first time he'd made any mention of her was when he'd been in a cell in Mirkwood, when they had talked about the rune-stone his mother had given him, as a reminder of his promise to return to her, because he was so reckless (which he had denied at the time, but she'd since learnt to be the absolute truth). They'd talked so much that day, of little things and big things and everything in between; and she'd been comfortable, in a way she'd never been with another person, elf or otherwise. As if she wasn't odd enough already!

She could only imagine what her King would have said had he known about that (Legolas most certainly had said a thing or two about it while they rode to Gundabad). Then again, he'd exiled her for disobeying orders and going after the orcs... or maybe he just did it because he saw her bond with the prince as a threat (which was absolutely ridiculous because while she certainly held her prince in great regard, she did not love him!).

King Thranduil had never liked her, and at least Tauriel knew it wasn't for something she had done (or not done) specifically; no, his contempt was for the blood that ran in her veins.

Everyone in Mirkwood knew that she wasn't what their King would consider pure. Though most had always thought that his disdain was for her mother's blood, that of a silvan-elf; it wasn't so, no, the real problem, one no one but the King himself knew of at all, was her father's blood: the blood of a mortal man...

Her status as peredhel (half-elf) was a closely guarded secret and had been ever since she and her Naneth had made it to Greenwood, when she was still very young. It was in no way due to shame on her part, she felt nothing of the sort regarding her father (He'd loved her and her mother very much, and while he'd died when she was very young, she remembered that much about him).

His name had been Dirhael, son of Arahael, a Chieftain of the Dúnedain, the Men of the West. Being the youngest son (from what her mother had told her), he hadn't been part of the line of succession when it came to the leadership of their tribe (and whenever her mother spoke of them, it was as if there was more to those men that just a nomad clan...). She didn't know what her father's family might have thought of his marriage to her mother, though Naneth said they were always kind to her. There had been warnings, regarding the consequences of a union between the firstborn and one of the secondborn; but after seeing that Dirhael and Tawar were quite stubborn about it, no one tried to stop them.

She remembered very little of her time with them. After the battle that took her father's life (as well as a number of others), and which was followed shortly afterwards by an attack on their village, in which many others had lost their lives; the Dúnedain as a whole had decided to go back to their nomadic ways, it was too dangerous to stay in one place anymore. Tawar decided then that the life of a nomad was not right for a child as young as she was (and with the elven blood in her veins, she aged slower than any human child would have).

Her father's family had apparently offered to escort her to Imladris, a city of elves they all knew well, for the connection Lord Elrond and his own kin had to the tribe. Yet Tawar chose instead to go to Greenwood, placing her trust in a distant cousin of hers, Valadhiel who, they learnt upon arrival, had gone to marry King Thranduil and was Queen of the Woddland Realm (Greenwood, which would become Mirkwood, after the darkness invaded it).

Thranduil, being a Sindar, believed himself above 'common silvan-elves' (which Tauriel had always believed to be absolutely ridiculous, what with his own Queen being half-silvan), and while she recognized there were differences, she didn't see why it should separate a race. It was until much later (and practically by accident), that he learnt that what the King truly objected about her was her half-human status, rather than her silvan heritage. He was so against mortals (all of them) that he refused to admit to there being one under his protection, therefore refusing to allow anyone to know of her status. Tauriel didn't like it, the feeling that she was denying her father and his own heritage; but her mother had been heart-sick ever since his passing and the young woman couldn't bring herself to make things harder for her.

Eventually Tawar had passed away (and Tauriel was convinced her mother only waited as long as she did to make sure her child was fully settled) and Tauriel was left alone, in a place she didn't fully like, surrounded by people who couldn't understand why she preferred the trees to the mountain so much, why she'd rather sleep on a tree than a bed, and so on. They did not know, and deep down did not care to find out, too used to their own way of life.

One thing she'd grant her K... former King, was that he'd made sure she was cared for. While he'd never acted exactly as she would expect of family (especially not after Valadhiel's death), he had made sure Tauriel had all she would need; he also got her the best tutors when she chose to be a Warrior, and supported her bid for Captain (though he didn't make it easy on her).

She could remember with almost painful clarity the conversation the two of them had had in that throne room, in Mirkwood, before everything had changed so much...

The conversation had already been tense enough, what with her questioning him about his disregard for the suffering of others (other lands, other races) his refusal to send warriors to find the orcs beyond the borders of their own realm. And then, somehow, Legolas had become the topic of conversation...

"Legolas said you fought well today." He stated suddenly.

She hadn't known what else to do beyond acknowledging the compliment.

"He has grown very fond of you." He said next.

Abruptly, Tauriel had a very good idea where the conversation was going, she didn't like it.

"I assure you, my lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain of the guard." She did her best to lay things to rest.

"Perhaps he did once." Thranduil stated pensively. "Now I am not so sure."

"I do not think you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan Elf." And he certainly would never allow Legolas to bind himself to a peredhel.

"No, you are right. I would not." Thranduil answered both her words and her thoughts at the same time. "Still, he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none."

When leaving the throne room she'd been completely sure her foul mood would last for hours, if not days; yet it had vanished like smoke the moment she and Kili began conversing... it was as if something about that dwarf made it impossible for her to remain morose, he was just so happy most of the time. It was charming.

Her lack of restraint when she and Legolas had been interrogating that orc before the King, and later on when she'd decided to go after the pack of blood-thirsty creatures rather than stay in the realm as her King commanded certainly hadn't helped matters any. Still, she wasn't expecting it when she was informed by a guard (by someone who used to be under her command) and in a most disrespectful manner that she was exiled...

Things just kept piling up, and the final act (at least where it came to her King) was probably when she had the gall (and she admitted she must have been beyond insane with worry and exhaustion by that point) to draw her bow against her King, when he was talking about leaving the men and dwarves to their fate against the two armies of orcs, wargs and goblins. She would not say she regretted it, she wouldn't lie to others and especially not to herself like that. Still, she could have handled things better.

In any case, she didn't believe a different choice at that point would have changed things any in the long run, not really. Her King had exiled her, and he was much too proud to change his mind, take back his words; that she knew. And even if he had, she wouldn't have gone back to his realm, even if Kili hadn't factored in; that place was no longer home. It hadn't been for a long time, but she'd been holding out, for the memory of her Naneth and what she'd wanted for Tauriel.

Wherever else she might have gone, no longer mattered. All that mattered was where she was, where she would be living the rest of her life... inside a mountain. It sounded insane, even inside her own head. She was a Silvan Elf! She loved light, especially starlight, above anything else; it was why she'd never fully liked Mirkwood in the first place! However, circumstances were very different, she had to admit. And she just loved Kili so much...

Tauriel, Daughter of Dirhael had been bruised, slashed, stabbed, bludgeoned, bitten by spiders, almost mauled by a warg and nearly skewered at least once... yet she could declare with absolute certainty that never had she been as absolutely terrified as she was that misty morning, high on Ravenhill. That horrible orc had just thrown her against the half-broken column for the second time, her body was hurt and her head was throbbing; yet she forced herself to keep her eyes open and as focused as possible on the one she'd climbed that hill to find, the one who'd gone to her aid when she needed it (and him) most... the one that was about to get a sword through his gut for his troubles. She wanted to scream yet couldn't find her voice and then...

A pebble. It was something so small, so innocuous, she almost couldn't believe the way their whole situation changed just because of it. The small stone had hit the orc in the back of his head. It wasn't even a bad hit, though enough to call his attention. Kili had taken advantage of that, as he managed to push his enemy's arm to one side and his own body in the opposite direction just enough not to get killed when the orc finally brought its arm down. He was still hurt, and badly, a cut into his flank so deep it was a miracle he hadn't screamed bloody murder! Or maybe the pain had simply stolen his breath and voice like it had hers.

In any case, after a second of surprise, Tauriel decided the Valar had granted them enough of a miracle and it would be up to them to finish saving themselves. She had no idea where the strength had come to push herself to her feet, pull out the small knife she kept hidden in the sole of her boot for emergencies, before leaping at the huge creature and piercing through its neck before it could stop her (she wasn't sure he truly saw her before the blade was in his throat in any case). Still, she did not let go of the blade until those awful eyes closed and the monster went down. Which, consequently, caused Kili to collapse as well, when the creature stopped holding him; she hurried to assist him.

The bottom half of her tunic had soon been torn and made into bandages, all while Tauriel kept an eye out in case there were any more enemies coming, and tried to think of some way she would be able to get Kili to a healer (for, taller than him as she might be, she wasn't sure she had the raw strength to carry him on her own). Thankfully a few of his Company had arrived around then. One who knew her, had seen her use elven magic to heal Kili, and thus trusted her; better than the other one, who looked like he might be looking for an excuse to spear her through, at least until Kili half ordered, half groaned for him to stand down.

She hadn't understood then why such an obviously strong and tough dwarf would obey one that was obviously much younger than him, not until Kili had told her about his lineage, about being nephew to King Thorin Oakenshield (as well as his heir, with the death of his older brother Fili... though it took a while before anyone acknowledged that).

In the end the two dwarves (Bofur and Dwalin) pulled Kili up (after they'd checked over the bandages she'd placed on Kili's flanks). Bofur had asked her softly if she couldn't do more, and she had to grudgingly admit that her healing talents were limited and with her recent lack of sleep and any considerable food, besides her own injuries, she had hardly any energy left to remain standing. The intention had been to leave immediately. Even if they had managed to kill the big orc, there was still Azog to consider. However, Kili refused to leave without seeing his uncle, and once again the dwarves acquiesced.

It was Legolas who directed them to where both Dwarf-King and halfling could be found. He had apparently watched the confrontation between Thorin Oakenshield and the Pale Orc from a high tower, where he'd stationed himself to shoot arrows, taking out a number of orcs himself. As well as a huge creature that (unknown to her and any of the dwarves) had been going in their direction while she was busy treating Kili's wound.

They'd reached the edge of the frozen falls in time to witness a scene none of them could have ever been expecting: the bonding of a king of dwarves and a halfling, through a rite that was probably older than Arda itself.

"Heart to heart, body to body, soul to soul..." She paraphrased under her breath.

She knew the words well, she knew the ritual in and out, better than any except probably the very lady leading it in that moment, who's aura felt so completely other-wordly. She knew because Naneth had told her all about it. It was an old ritual, created in Aman at the very beginning of time; meant to bound to creatures to the end of all worlds, regardless of their origins, of their Fate, of their race...

It was the rite her parents had married by, to make sure that whatever Éru might have prepared for the afterlife of one, would be shared by both. Nothing would ever separate Dirhael and Tawar, not for long. When she was a youngling Tauriel had imagined what it would be like to love somebody that much, had dreamt of pronouncing those very words one day, to someone she loved and wanted to be a part of her, forever... Then she'd learnt that no one else in Mirkwood knew those words, few couples even pledged themselves to each other forever... most elves choosing instead to enter lesser bonds.

It had never felt right to her. She understood some people feeling fear at the prospect of vowing to love someone forever... but to not even remain loyal to one single companion for life? She had always known that elves rarely married for that very reason; marriage was a sacred bond and could not be entered lightly. Unlike men, there was no such things like separation or divorce, where the elves were concerned. And yet, apparently there were also instances where elves would go to bed with one another, without making any sort of promise, any commitments. How did that make them any better in the long run?

Kili's touch, his hand in hers pulled her out of her reverie, and while her eyes remained on the breath-taking ceremony taking place (which, she knew, they were all incredibly blessed to be able to witness) her fingers entwined with his. She had a feeling the ceremony was as touching for him as it was for her.

"Always and forever, so mote it be." They heard first the unknown lady, then the two bonded seal the bonding ceremony.

"So mote it be." The words were out of Tauriel's lips before she was conscious of it.

"So mote it be." Kili echoed.

The other two dwarves followed his lead, and even Legolas (though she seriously suspected that he was doing it more out of respect of the power the lady conducting the ceremony so obviously carried than the people actually being bonded).

A lot happened after that: Gandalf was there, and the lady was turning to stardust, and the words she'd pronounced 'The Tapestry of Fate shall be Rewoven by the Hand of Destiny...'; she had a feeling there was something terribly important about those words, even if she hadn't the slightest idea what it might be.

However, Tauriel's priorities in that moment were others, mainly Kili. Thankfully, as shocked as Thorin Oakenshield so obviously was regarding everything that had happened, the sight of his injured nephew was enough to make him focus; soon they were all on their way back to Erebor. Once there, it was a flurry of activity, as both Kili and Thorin were taken to the healers (despite Oakenshield's insistent and rather loud remarks about him being just fine). A small group of dwarves was then sent back to Ravenhill to confirm the death of the orcs and handle any possible stragglers (the last thing they needed was an attack when they were all trying to recover from the last), as well as (and most importantly) to retrieve the body of Prince Fili, Kili's brother.

At some point she'd been directed to a cot in a tent and she'd slept for Elbereth knows how long. She'd wake up every so often, sometimes to find Kili beside her, others not, once she actually saw him sleeping beside her, deep circles beneath his eyes, he was obviously beyond exhausted.

**xXx**

Eventually, time began making sense again and Tauriel was able to focus. She discovered two days had passed, and much had happened. A reunion had taken place between King Thranduil, Bard Dragonslayer and Thorin Oakenshield, with Mithrandir and the halfling acting as mediators. All sides of the story had been revealed, old grudges were laid to rest (mostly), and a Peace Treaty between the three realms had even been signed.

Thranduil and most of the elves were gone by the time she woke fully, and she learnt afterwards that, before their departure, Thorin had declared her to be under his protection. She officially had a place in Erebor, if she wished for it.

"What is going on Kili?" She asked, right after the last word of the explanation left his lips. "You speak of protection and asylum... yet the fact that it was even a topic in a reunion of leaders makes it obvious that there's more to it than just granting refuge to an exile. What am I missing?"

"My intentions to court you Tauriel, if you're agreeable to it, that is." Kili blurted out, wincing at his own lack of finesse.

For a second Tauriel didn't know what to say, a part of her felt great warmth inside her breast at those words, but another couldn't help but fear.

"Is this a good idea?" She asked softly, hesitantly.

"Doubt, do you, the feelings in my heart, Thatr-mesem (Star-jewel)?" He whispered.

She remembered then, the times when she'd woken (if briefly) to find him by her side, she'd heard him whispering things to her; and while they'd all been in the tongue of the dwarves, and therefore incomprehensible to her, she instinctively knew they'd all been, one way or another, declarations of love.

"It's not about doubt, but practicality." She tried to explain what was in her mind.

"Love is not about practicality." Kili retorted.

"True as that might be, you're not just any dwarf, Kili." She hated being the one to remind him of the death of his brother, but it needed to be done. "You're the rightful to the throne of Erebor, Astalder (valiant one). Do you truly believe your people will accept a peredhel as their Queen?"

"But I love you..." He murmured quietly, almost pained.

"As I love you." She nodded. "But I wish not to bring any trouble to you and yours."

"You shan't." Kili declared with abrupt conviction. "I shall speak to my uncle, he will help us."

He had, indeed, talked to Thorin. The true surprise, though, came when she was called into a private meeting with Thorin Oakenshield and his Royal Consort: Bilbo Baggins, a few days later (after they were done with the funerals). Kili was present as well, standing by the back of the room, while Tauriel stood at the center.

"My sister-son claims to love you." The King said in his most solemn tone. "What have you to say to this?"

"Not much..." She admitted quietly. "I am no great poet, oh King. I am also very aware of how much you have done for me already, taking me in when I had no home left. But if you wonder if I reciprocate Kili's feelings, I do." She shook her head briefly. "I love Kili as much as any one person can love another. Yet I won't be the reason shame or distrust falls upon him, or his name. Give the word, my lord, and I shall leave tonight."

It looked like in that moment Kili wanted nothing more than to cry out his denial, but a sharp gesture from the King stopped him, before he turned to look at her. Tauriel could only take a deep breath, getting ready for her dismissal... she could have never expected the words to come from the Dwarf's mouth instead.

"I declared you to be under my protection, I shall not go back on my word." He stated, first of all. "I am also not so cruel as to try to deny my sister's son his love. My foolishness has already taken one we all love, I shall not be responsible for the misery of one of the few family members I have left. I would never forgive myself if I did that..." His eyes strayed to the halfling beside him, reaching a hand to clasp. "Besides, how could I begrudge him the kind of love I've already been blessed enough to find?" He shook his head, turning back to her. "It is true that you being an elf will make things harder than they would be otherwise. But if your love is truly meant to be, you will make it through. As to the other trouble you might face, being a mixed match... I trust you to decide if you're willing to go through such a separation."

"There shall be no separation." Tauriel blurted out, suddenly full of feeling, as she turned her eyes to Kili's. "For if Kili will take me, I am willing to bind myself to him to the end of time."

The young dwarven-prince was moving before anyone was fully aware of it, an instant later elf and dwarf were kneeling in the middle of the room, embracing and kissing tenderly. Eventually they separated, and even when Kili got back on his feet, Tauriel couldn't help but turn to face Thorin while still on one knee.

"My King..." She murmured respectfully.

"On your feet." He ordered, and if his voice sounded a bit raspy, not a word was said. "You're family now, Nâtha (Daughter)."

Tauriel couldn't help the wide smile on her face as she stood smoothly.

She'd gone on to tell her whole story to those present. If they were her new family it was only right that they knew. She'd also learnt then what had become of her friend and former prince, Legolas. Apparently after recent events he'd decided he no longer felt at home in Mirkwood and instead chose to travel North, King Thranduil had suggested he might like spending time with the group of rangers in that area. He'd left an open invitation for Tauriel to join him if she so wished; though he'd also been made aware of Kili's intentions to court her formally, he'd grudgingly given his blessing (contrary to what most would expect, he was aware that the two of them were family, if distant, it was truly why he was so protective of her).

The Peredhel found it almost ironic that Legolas would get to meet the other side of her family, while she wouldn't, instead she would go to live inside a mountain, the very last thing she'd ever imagined herself doing of her own free will... Yet that was the truth, and she didn't feel an ounce of regret over her decisions.

The next morning everyone could see Tauriel walking through the encampments at the foot of the mountain (and the beginnings of the reconstruction both inside Erebor itself and in Dale) wearing two plaits, and a total of three beads. While humans and the few elves remaining did not think much of it, all dwarves knew immediately what they meant: the braid behind her right ear was of family, on it was a blue bead, engraved with the symbol of Thorin Oakenshield, signaling she was under his protection as kith (not kin, because that would make her future union with Kili most improper); the second bead on that plait was wooden and signaled the support of the Royal Consort. The second plait, behind her left ear, had a single bead, made from a blue star sapphire so dark it was almost black; it had Kili's personal symbol and announced to all who saw it that Tauriel was his intended.

The confirmation to the last part (which, more than a few, had trouble believing) was there for all to be see in the plait behind Kili's own left ear, made of mithril (given to her by Bilbo from his share of the dragon treasure and given shape with help from Bofur who, while mainly being a miner and toy-maker, knew enough of handling metals to help her a lot), and while Tauriel had no elaborate symbol to show it was from her, she had it engraved with the rune of her name, as well as that of the Dúnedain (once and for all laying claim to her father's people).

The Iron Hill Dwarves found the whole thing extremely odd. While most dwarves disliked elves in general, only those who hailed from Erebor shared Thorin's old hate for King Thranduil for how they'd chosen to forsake the dwarves on their darkest hour. Aside from that, dwarves were a very private society, and the idea of one of their own, and more importantly, a prince of their people, being betrothed to an elf, it wasn't exactly normal. Then again, it wasn't like their King taking a halfling as a Consort was the most natural either. No one truly complained, though, not after witnessing all members of Thorin's Company, their heroes, rallying around both 'outsiders' and their respective mates at the slightest sign of trouble.

The coronation and the feast to celebrate the union of Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins had happened right away; however, Kili had asked Tauriel to wait for theirs until his mother arrived. Tauriel had no problem agreeing with that, she understood well-enough her beloved's desire to have his mother there; had been expecting it, if she was honest. At the same time, she was beyond terrified what the Lady Dís, princess of the Blue Mountains and (to be) Princess of Erebor, might think of one such as she, wanting to bond with her son.

In the end, her fears proved to be unfounded. While she didn't get to see her intended's mother until several days after her arrival (Bilbo had explained to her that after seeing her brother and son, Lady Dís had insisted on holding her own vigil for her deceased son, as was traditional for the dwarves; it did not matter if the former heir had been already in his tomb for two moons). Eventually the dwarrowdam (female dwarf) found Tauriel, rather than the other way around. It also happened right after Tauriel had finished her bath, while she was sitting before her vanity, carefully braiding her hair again (She had more plaits in her hair by then, with a number of beads made from all kinds of precious stones gifted to her by members of the Company, their way to declare their support to her and her union with Kili). She was just about to place the bead at the end of the plait when the other female arrived.

"So you are the one who intends to mate with my son." Lady Dís stated directly.

Tauriel froze, she couldn't help it. Only all the years she'd spent dealing with King Thranduil and his own mercurial moods allowed her to stop from whirling around and blurting the first thing that came to mind (which wouldn't have helped make a good first impression with her intended's mother, at all). Instead she finished securing the bead, tied the end of the plait carefully, before getting on her feet and turning to face the dwarrowdam, curtsying to her respectfully.

"The Lady Dís, I presume?" At the lady's nod Tauriel introduced herself. "Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, at your service."

Bilbo had explained to her that was the best way to introduce herself for both hobbits and dwarves (an odd costume they shared), much better than the more ceremonial phrases typically used by the elves.

"Dís, daughter of Thrain, sister of Thorin, at yours." The dwarf-lady replied with a nod. "And tell me Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, why do you want to bond with my son?"

For a moment Tauriel honestly did not know how to respond to that. She knew well-enough that most elves would take a question like that as an excuse to compose all kinds of poems and songs about their beloved, enlisting all number of qualities and virtues... but like she'd told the King already, she was no poet. Also, as she'd learnt in the two months she'd spent thus far living in the Lonely Mountain, dwarves much preferred things said directly, so she decided to honor that (and in a way herself as well) and be direct.

"Because I love him, my lady." She answered honestly, and once those words were said, it was as if they came more easily to her. "I love him so much I know not what I would have done had he died that day in Ravenhill... so much I am willing to forsake the light of the stars for the glow of lanterns and gems inside this mountain."

"And Thorin said you claimed to be no poet." Dís quipped, a smile beginning to appear on her lips. "You are not what I would have pictured for one of my sons. I always knew Kili to be special, being born outside the mountain made him so. Doesn't mean I ever expected that he would be finding his One in an elf of all creations!" Her words were strong but also kind. "And yet... I know I owe you his life..."

"I could have done nothing less, my lady." Tauriel hurried to reassure her. "And he saved mine as well, more than once."

"I am aware of that." Dís quieted her as she continued her speech. "I may not understand how my son has come to love you, though it is clear to me he does, indeed. Just as it is clear to me that you love him too. I could ask for nothing more. You have my blessing."

The dwarrowdam left before Tauriel managed to string a single sentence, even to thank her. She had hoped (seemingly beyond hope) for things to go alright with the lady; yet never expected such total acceptance. It made her happy beyond words.

That same day an announcement was made: Crown Prince Kili, future 'King under the Mountain' would be marrying his intended, Lady Tauriel, on the next full moon.

**xXx**

It was the oddest, and also the prettiest ceremony Tauriel had ever been a part of. The pledging itself was done in private, with only kith and kin present; in their case that being the members of the Company, Gandalf, Dís and Dain Ironfoot. The greatest surprise, however, was in the form of guests from Imladris: Lord Elrond and his sons: Elladan and Elrohir. Their intent had been first to add themselves and their realm to the treaty signed by Erebor, Dale and Mirkwood; and after learning of the upcoming pledge they also wished to stand in the ceremony as Tauriel's kin (they were distantly related through her Dúnadan father).

After the vows (the same vows as Thorin and Bilbo, as Tauriel's parents) and the blessing of the family, a huge feast followed. It was the part of the celebration that extended to include others (in this case, everyone else in Erebor and the skirts of the mountain).

The feast went on late into the night (as could only be expected, especially with it being the wedding of the future king). At the same time, no one seemed particularly surprised when Kili took his bride's hand and took her away from the celebration before the night (and the partying) ended; and while they were followed by no few whistles and laughter, Which Tauriel had been warned about beforehand by Bilbo (who knew well enough how boisterous dwarves could be and hadn't wanted Tauriel to think any offense was meant).

However, that wasn't truly Tauriel's focus that night, or not for long in any case, not after Kili bypassed the door to what she knew to be his chambers (theirs, from that night on) and instead continued on to a set of hidden stairs around a corner, at the end of the hall. They were already pretty high up on the mountain, and she had no idea why they would be going further up even... until Kili stepped aside and she stepped into a dream...

It was a garden, or the beginnings of one. Small saplings (which, she was sure, would become tall and imposing trees one day) were growing on one end, and the rest was covered in still growing bushes and a number of flowers that looked like the might be readying for spring). And that wasn't even all of it. Tauriel soon realized that the whole garden wasn't illuminated by a single lantern, no, it was the light of the stars, filtering through the crystal that formed a dome high over their heads.

"Oh..." The peredhel gasped, not knowing what to say exactly.

"The glass-panes over us can be opened and closed as you prefer and a system was built into its base and the wall to allow for the water either from rain or melted snow to filter and keep all the plants here watered with the needed regularity." Kili blurted out, nervousness obvious. "I know it doesn't look that great yet but the plants are pretty young. Uncle Bilbo said that in a month or two this will actually look like a proper garden and..."

He was interrupted by his bride's hands cradling his face, followed by an intense kiss that completely robbed him of his breath.

"You built me a garden..." She breathed out, without letting go of him.

"It was the intent, yes." Kili admitted, blushing. "I know how you must miss your trees and plants. Living inside the mountain and..."

"And?" Tauriel could see she was making her mate nervous, but she was so absolutely fascinated by what she was seeing.

"And I wanted to give you a starlight path to walk again." He murmured quietly, still flushed.

Tauriel simply couldn't hold herself back anymore. Her old King and most of the elves she'd lived with for many years would have considered it terribly bold, even scandalous; but her heart was almost bursting with the love for her lifemate in that moment and she just had to show him that. Neither of them made it to their quarters that night.

* * *

><p>That's that for now, I hope you liked this one.<p>

The previous short story didn't get much attention, though I was aware something like that might happen. Guardians was one I wrote mostly for me. I wanted to write down Eleana's story, everything she was in my mind, even if it wasn't that relevant to the story. Though I do believe some things are relevant to the way history will be changing, subtly at first, more drastically later on (I'm still deciding just how drastically, suggestions are welcome).

For the next couple of stories we'll be getting the focus of two of Durin's descendants: Daín Ironfoot and Princess Dís. Each have different things to contribute to this story and to its development. Also, after that, things will, finally, begin moving past 'The Hobbit' and more into LotR's territory. Yet again, your suggestions are welcomed.

On a topic that concerns only my readers in Ffnet: Like I just said, we'll soon be reaching LotR's territory. I would like to know whether you think this story should stay where it is, if you think I should end this and start a second part on the LotR's category for the rest of the short stories, or as a crossover, or simply move this to the crossovers section when we reach that point? Your opinion on this topic is very important because I want to be sure you will be reading it, and that new people will know what they're getting into from the start.

Hope you liked this. Please comment.


	3. Durin's Folk

At first I had no idea how to begin this chapter, though I knew what I wanted to achieve. It worked well enough, I think.

Just to warn you, there's not much romance here, but I thought it was important for some things to become known so, here it is.

* * *

><p><strong>Durin's Folk <strong>

The first time Daín Ironfoot, Lord of Iron Hill, met the Royal Consort of Erebor, the halfling Bilbo Baggins, was not under the best circumstances. A lot had happened in the last few days: from receiving a message from a raven (after so many years of such a thing happening!) learning that the dragon Smaug was dead and his cousin was King of the Mountain; then finding out that his kin was under siege by men from Esgaroth (or what remained of the old realm of men) and elves from the former Greenwood. He arrived then, followed by five hundred of his best warriors; yet instead of battling men and elves he ended up allying with them to fight against an army at least twice as big as their (unexpectedly) allied ones, formed by orcs, goblins and wargs (foul beasts the lot of them!).

The aftermath of the battle was no better than its start: with Thorin being more than a little erratic (in his eyes), the man seemed to have time for no one but those who'd traveled with him, and the odd creature that looked nothing like a dwarf yet followed him everywhere; and all the dwarrows to have traveled with him had ascended to high nobles, Thorin's chosen council. Fili, son of Vili was dead, had been killed in Ravenhill, by the Pale Orc; Kili was badly hurt and rumors were going around that it was thanks to an elf that he'd survived at all! And, of course, there was that odd auburn-haired she-elf that stayed even when most of Thranduil's kith were gone.

The first thing Daín ever heard about the halfling was that the creature was a traitor. Had handed the Arkenstone, the very heart of the mountain, of their kingdom, to a man of Dale to be used a bartering tool! The second thing was that he was the reason men and elves had allied with the dwarrows rather than attacking them... the reason why they'd been able to fight all together and win against the combined might of Gundabad and Dol Guldur. There had been other things, like the fact that he'd been in the battle (which was absolutely ridiculous, the halfling was so small it would have been trampled on from the very start), that he'd actually gone to Ravenhill to save Thorin and his nephews, and succeeded with two of the three (which was even more ridiculous); that Thorin held him in the highest regard... and then Thorin was officially crowned, as King Under the Mountain, and he announced Bilbo Baggins as his Royal Consort; his nephew, the odd elf, Gandalf and a number of other members of his company supporting the story that they were lifemates already, pledged to each other through rites supposedly older than Arda itself.

So, Daín had more than enough reasons to be suspicious and more than a little worried about what exactly was going on in the Lonely Mountain. How Thorin had set out in a supposedly-impossible quest and ended up as he was in that moment. He wanted nothing more than to meet with both his cousin and his so-called Consort and ask for (demand) explanations. However, they'd all been so busy trying to clear enough space inside the mountain to allow not only for the dwarves but also the men to find refuge before the worst snow-storms began (and that was yet another thing he didn't understand, who cared what happened to the men?); there had been no chance for them to meet.

He'd been waiting for days to get a chance and talk. Still, their first meeting probably could have gone much (much) better. He'd been hearing the whispers all morning, about the she-elf that was walking around with a clan braid and a betrothal one too! It had to be a misunderstanding surely, no one from the line of Durin could be that crazy to offer themselves to a tree-hugger! And one particular whisper seemed to imply that it was Kili, the royal heir, who had done that very thing. Once again, it worried Daín, so much had happened, was happening already; he wanted to clarify some things before the whispers got too far, or worse (he didn't want to imagine what would happen if at least one of the whispers happened to be true and the elf really had Thorin's bead on her clan plait, what his cousin might do if he heard some foolish dwarrow talking bad about her). He was just a tad too late to stop things from happening... and they were more than a little bit worse than he could have ever imagined possible (the only saving grace was probably that Thorin wasn't present for any of it).

First he heard a thump, the echo of an impact of flesh on flesh, someone had been punched. The Lord of the Iron Hills rounded a corner just in time to see a dwarf (presumably the one who'd been punched), jump back onto his feet, yelling in khuzdul at a figure smaller than any other dwarf (the Consort), only to find himself abruptly facing the pointy end of a blade. Most dwarves would have dismissed it as little more than a 'letter opener' but more than one warrior had spoken of the blood that blade had spilled: orc, warg and even of spiders.

"Step away halfling." The dwarrow (whom Daín belatedly recognized as Hao, his own distant kin) snarled at the hobbit. "I wasn't speaking to you."

"No, because truth is, you weren't speaking you were screeching." The halfling deadpanned, with no fear whatsoever of the enraged dwarf before him. "You had the gall to insult your betters."

"That brat..." Hao began, angrily.

"That brat, as you dare call him, is Kili, son of Vili, from the line of Durin, prince of Erebor and future King Under the Mountain." The halfling enlisted in a hiss. "He's traveled across Arda, fighting against trolls, orcs, goblins, wargs and spiders. This brat, as you refer to him, is more of a warrior than you'll ever be. You owe him respect. For this is his home, not yours. Here you're but a guest, nothing more." He made a pause before adding. "You must also know that if you ever dare to insult him, or anyone else again. No one here stands alone, we're a company, we're kith, and as good as kin. You insult one of us, you insult all of us."

"I believe you've gotten your point across." Daín called right then.

Really, there was no need to berate the poor dwarrow so much! Besides, being one of his own men, it was only right for Daín to speak up for him.

"I seriously doubt it." Someone in the group snorted.

"You're taking things too personally..." Daín began.

"Like I believe should be obvious already, this is personal." The halfling stated formally. "If anything, I believe you aren't giving the matter the seriousness it deserves, Lord Ironfoot."

"Excuse me?" Daín didn't understand. "All the dwarrow did was call Kili a brat."

"Oh but he did much more!" It was the she-elf then, speaking up.

"Should you be involving yourself in this matter, m'lady?" Daín didn't mean to sound condescending, but at that point he just didn't seem able to stop himself.

"It's because I've been respectful of you and your own that I haven't spoken up before now." She said seriously. "Despite the fact that I should have, that it was my intended being insulted. I know how you dwarves are when it comes to pride, so I held my tongue, perhaps longer than I ought to. But no more. I am under the protection of King Thorin Oakenshield, and betrothed to Prince Kili, you and yours shall not be insulting him in my presence again."

Daín actually bit his tongue at that, so at least some of the rumors were true? And he could see it right then, the plaits behind the she-elf's ears, and the beads on them; there was also a new plait on the young dwarrow's own hair.

"Just what could Hao have said to make you react like that?" Daín asked, confused.

Kili muttered something under his breath, but Daín couldn't hear; yet whatever it was, made half of the 'Company' (as most had taken to calling them) unsheathe their blades, while the Royal Consort pressed his own closer to the dwarf to have insulted Kili.

"How dare you?!" Several cried out in fury.

"For someone, anyone, to so much as imply that the wrong brother died..." The halfling muttered with barely controlled fury (and slowly the lord began to think that maybe the stories weren't as outlandish as it may have seemed at first). "I could cut you open from nose to navel in a second. And I would be in my right, for you've insulted not only the prince of Erebor, but my own kin. And even then, that would be a kinder fate that what Thorin might yet do to you for daring to say such heresy." He took a deep breath, as if to control himself better, though still not lowering his blade. "Always the mere suggestion of wishing someone dead would be an insult, but to say something like that in these circumstances? That is beyond unforgivable. For you weren't there, none of you were. You know not what happened, how Fili died, or how close Kili came to dying himself as well... Yet you dare speak without thinking, wishing death and life, as if such were in your power to wish for and change." He snorted. "Absolutely ridiculous. What's more, you give great offense to one who is already mourning. And for what? His choice in partner? What does it matter if Tauriel is a she-elf, a dwarf, or something else entirely? She's still far more deserving of respect than many, including you, right now."

"A prince from the line of Durin cannot possibly mate with a tree-hugger!" Hao snapped in harsh khuzdul, refusing to back down.

Another of the dwarves from the Company smacked the dwarf on the side with the flat of his blade abruptly.

"Speak Westron!" He ordered.

"Why should I?" Daín's kin demanded. "Outsiders do not belong in this mountain, and it's time they understood it!"

"It matters not." The halfling said calmly. "The matter remains the same. Insult has been dealt, and an apology must be issued."

"What?!" Several voices called out.

"Never." Hao snarled yet again. "I have every right to my own opinions. And to voicing them. And it's not like I said things others weren't thinking already, I'm just the only one with the guts to say them out-loud..."

"Or the only one stupid enough..." The youngest from the Company murmured with a snort.

"Come on everyone." Daín tried to diffuse the situation, not realizing he was only making it worse. "Tempers are running a bit high at the moment. But everyone has been known to speak without thinking before. No ill will was meant."

"One cannot wish death upon someone and then dismiss it as nothing more than a joke." Glóin (one dwarrow Daín did recognize instantly) said. "If the lad has, as he claims, enough guts to say the words, he must also have enough to own up to it, and the consequences of saying such things. He wished our prince dead. That is treason of the highest order!"

"They're just words!" Another dwarf from the Iron Hills, who looked to be close to the one to insult the prince. "It's not like he's done anything, really. You have no right to accuse my cousin of something as grave as treason for mere words..."

"No right?" Tauriel cried out. "He had no right to say the things he did! And he said them anyway. Yet suddenly we're the ones with no right?!"

"The lass is right..." Several murmured.

"I believe we should all calm down." Daín tried again. "Like I said before, I understand tempers are running a little high. Things were said, that weren't meant..."

"How would you know that?" One who looked like the oldest member of the Company currently present, challenged. "Were you here when he insulted Kili so? A Lord you might be in your Hills, Daín Ironfoot, but why should you interfere with any of this? It does not concern you."

"It does, since it is one of my own dwarrows that you are pointing your blades at." Daín pointed out. "I seek to help him because he's kith. Just like Kili and Thorin Oakenshield are my own kin. We're all allies here..."

"Really?" The halfling finally turned in his direction, arching a brow, blade still raised. "I think not. You claim to be Kili's kin, yet you keep defending the one who insulted him so viciously, his intended, as well as Fili! Mahal keep his soul. You say we're all allies here, yet you have nothing to show for it. What have you ever done to prove alliance to us in any way? What actions have you to back the words you are stating right now?"

"We came to your aid in battle!" Daín took offense to the halfling's words. "I understand you might be angry, Lord Consort, but do not make less of my people's bravery in the battle. They fought, bled and died for Thorin and his Company!"

"That is true." The hobbit conceded that. "You and yours came to our aid when the need was great. You were the heroes of the day... along with the valiant men from Laketown, the elven warriors of Mirkwood, Beorn Skin-changer and the mighty Eagles, all whom fought and died as well."

Then, just when Daín Ironfoot thought he'd managed to control things, everything changed. Bilbo Baggins finally lowered his blade, but he did not back down, instead staring straight at Daín with an intensity that speared him in place.

"You claim to be kin, to be an ally." The halfling said in a too-quiet, too-solemn tone. "Where were you then when Thorin left Ered Luin with next to nothing, searching for a way to reclaim his own home? Where were you when thirteen dwarves met in a smial in the Shire and realized that they were alone, that no other dwarrow had the guts to fight to reclaim their home? You weren't there, no. You turned your backs on him, decided that he wasn't really King, that you couldn't follow him, why? Because he didn't have a bloody stone?!" He rolled his eyes. "Where were you when the group nearly became the meal of three crazy trolls? When they were hunted across mountains and valleys by wargs and orcs and goblins? When a Thunder Battle nearly sent them off the Misty Mountains and to their deaths? When they fell into the cave of the Goblin King and were nearly tortured by him? When Azog and his army cornered them by the edge of a cliff and left them with practically nowhere to go? When the darkness in Mirkwood nearly made them lose themselves completely? Or when spiders bigger than any dwarrow almost ate them all? When King Thranduil kept them locked in cells in the Woodland Realm? Or when they had to make their escape in barrels down a river? When they needed to be smuggled into Laketown? Or when they spent the entire day searching a wall, trying to find the secret entrance into the mountain? When a dragon turned out to be awake? And most importantly, when that same dragon, Smaug the Terrible, the worst calamity of the Age, nearly killed them all?!"

Silence was his answer, and truly, no one knew what to say. It was one thing to have heard pieces of the story here and there, but to have it all pieced together like that...

"You came to defend a mountain that had already been reclaimed." Bilbo went on, more calm than before, though no less serious. "Came to stand against two armies that weren't truly our enemies, against enemies that, while a real threat, would have been so regardless of where you might have been. You were of great aid to us during the battle, that is true, and I'm not denying it. That merits congratulations indeed; your warriors were heroes one day. My dwarves were heroes for a long journey, and they still are. Every single one of them. They were brave in the face of all kinds of enemies, when the only back up was twelve other dwarves, when they didn't believe anyone else would help them. That is true bravery, true honor..."

"Loyalty, honor and a willing heart..." Several voices murmured quietly, including the halfling, voice reverent as if they were saying some great prayer.

"Your kith, has dared lay insult against one who's not only a prince, but also a warrior, a most brave dwarrow from the line of Durin and worthy heir to the throne of Erebor." The halfling added. "That is something that will be neither forgiven nor forgotten."

Seemingly deciding he'd spoken enough, the halfling touched the young dwarrow-prince's arm before saying something quietly. Daín couldn't hear, but he could see the she-elf, Tauriel, nod her agreement at whatever it was, before the two lead Kili away. The rest of the Company taking a protective formation around the three of them.

"I suggest you keep better control of your kith, my Lord Ironfoot." Glóin, at the back of said formation. harrumphed. "If a situation like this repeats itself... it won't be Bilbo dealing with it next time. And Thorin isn't as compassionate as his consort."

"You dare call your King by his given name?" A dwarf called in a mix of shock and horror.

Glóin just snorted, as far as he was concerned, they weren't getting it; neither was Daín, it would seem. And it was like Bilbo had said, they couldn't, they weren't there...

"Where was the halfling?" Someone asked unexpectedly.

"What?" The Company turned back as one (the other three stopped, but did not turn around).

"He enlisted all those events, where was he during all of it?" The dwarrow insisted.

"Right there." The youngest member of the company stated in a tone that made it sound as if it should be obvious. "Every single time. He was right in the middle of it."

"Ori is right." The oldest agreed. "It was Bilbo's home in the Shire where we came together to begin our quest. It was him who distracted the trolls long enough for dawn to come and turn them to stone (and Gandalf arriving in the right moment, but that's beside the point). He was with us as we were hunted by Azog's followers, and nearly fell to his death in the Misty Mountains. He did fall when we were in the goblin caves and it was a miracle he survived and found his way back to us. It was also him who killed the goblin who nearly beheaded Thorin on that cliff and stood face to face with Azog to protect our King. Nothing could have been done regarding the darkness and illusions in Mirkwood, but it was thanks to Bilbo that we survived the spiders, and again that we ever got out of Thranduil's cells, as he stole the keys, guided us to the cellar and got us out in those barrels, even though he nearly drowned in the process." He let out a breath. "When the rest of us had given up on hope of ever finding the secret entrance into the mountain, he didn't. He was the one who found it. And he went in, even knowing the dangers, he stood face to face with a dragon and outwitted him enough to get away with his life." And the Arkenstone, but there was no need to go into that. "And even when we tried to get him to leave, to be safe, as we faced Smaug, he refused to run, he stood with us, as one of us."

"He is one of us." Several from the Company stated almost in unison.

"They said he stole the Arkenstone!" A dwarrow called darkly. "That he gave it to the tree-shagger! As if it were a tool!"

"May Thorin never hear you say such things." A dwarrow with a funny hat stated with a shake of his head. "As mad as he would be for any insult against Kili, he will kill if anyone so much as insinuates anything untoward about Bilbo."

"Explain it to us then." Daín called. "For I cannot understand. It was never explained to us how our enemies became our allies. Or how Thorin took for Consort one whom rumors stated had been declared a traitor, even exiled."

"Those are private matters that should have never been spoken about." Glóin growled darkly. "Things that only concern our King and his One..."

There was sputtering around, at the idea of Thorin's One truly being that halfling (anyone not a dwarrow, really); but Daín wouldn't focus on that, it wasn't like he had anything against the halfling, he just wanted to understand. So much was going on, so much was changing, and he felt lost, maybe if he understood, at least some of it, things would be better.

"What would you do for love?" Ori asked suddenly, very softly.

"What?" No one was expecting that.

"It's a simple question." Ori insisted, with a quiet confidence most wouldn't expect from someone so young. "What would you do for love? For the love of your One?"

"We would all do anything for the love of our One." Several dwarrows called at the same time. "Fight, die, anything..."

"Anything?" It sounded almost like a challenge. "Even do something you know they will hate you for but is the only way to save their lives?"

No one had an answer to that, but that was alright, for Ori didn't seem to need it. He nodded, as if that were exactly the reaction he was expecting, before turning back to the Company. No one tried to stop them from leaving again.

Daín himself could only stand there, pondering over the words said. What would he do for his One? What would he do for his wife? He would do a great many things, had already, in the past. Had done anything and everything he could to make her happy, to keep her safe. He'd thought there was nothing he wouldn't do... yet he wasn't so sure anymore. For how could one decide to... to betray their One in order to save them? It was absolutely insane! Yet, apparently, that was exactly what had happened.

Things began falling into place for the Dwarven-Lord then: the halfling truly had found the Arkenstone, and had given it to the man: Bard Blackarrow, the heir of the last Lord of Dale, to use as a bartering tool with Thorin. To secure the safety of both humans and dwarves... Bilbo Baggins had sacrificed himself, his own heart, to keep Thorin Oakenshield safe. That certainly made him worthy (more than worthy) to be not only Royal Consort but (more importantly to Daín, as one of Durin's folk and Thorin's cousin), Thorin's One.

And if a halfling could be that brave, that worthy, maybe a she-elf could be as well? He decided he probably shouldn't be judging anymore. Odds were if he asked he would find out she had done some great deed herself (and he would, indeed, eventually be finding out all about the Pale Orc's offspring and the battle in which Prince Kili almost lost his life).

Daín would always regret not being there for his cousin and the rest of his Company when they went on that quest. But truth was, it hadn't been that simple (it never was). If he'd been anything other than the Lord of the Iron Hills nothing could have ever stopped him from standing by Thorin, like he'd been doing for years. Thorin was more than his cousin, was as good as his brother (at times that bond had been the only thing that kept them going after Frerin's death, Prince Frerin, Thorin's little brothêr and Dáin's dearest friend)... but Daín was the Lord of the Iron Hills, he had dwarrows who depended on him, whom he could not leave. So he had to tell Thorin no, to turn his back on him, and wait. He'd waited, practically with baited breath, for news.

Regardless what anyone might believe, Daín had absolute faith on his cousin, he always knew that Thorin could, and would reclaim Erebor (no matter the odds). It was why, when that raven arrived with the request for backup 500 dwarrows had been just ready to march; Daín had been ready for months. It was something he'd explained to Thorin the first moment they got to talk in private, and was thankful his cousin had been so understanding. He probably wouldn't remain so if he ever found out the kind of things his warriors were saying about Kili... which meant he had to deal with matters before Thorin found out.

"You!" He called authoritatively, signaling to all the dwarrows remaining.

"My lord!" They all called in unison.

"Come with me." He ordered, guiding them back to their camp. "We must talk."

He'd always believed Thorin would be King Under the Mountain; and if Thorin believed that Kili could be his heir (elven One and all), then Daín would support him, as it was supposed to be. Durin's Folk ought to stand together, always.

* * *

><p>Hope you liked this chapter. I know some people might want more romance (I myself would, to be honest), but some things really need to be established first. So that' what we're doing here. Also, it would seem I got more readers in the piece devoted to the Kiliel pairing, that with Bagginshield... it's a good thing both will be very important throughout this series. Even if, technically, Bilbo and Thorin are the main characters, the other two are of great importance in different ways and will be along for the ride.<p>

Just to make one thing clear, Dáin isn't meant to be bad or anything. I believe I explained the circumstances which lead him to act the way he does, and about his continued defense of the other dwarf... he believed he was protecting his kin, not fully understanding what had been said exactly, and unsure of how far the Company might be willing to go. Also, Bilbo wasn't being cruel or ungrateful, or trying to diminish the Ironhill dwarves by saying they were the heroes of one day only... he was in part trying to make them understand why their Company deserved respect, and he was being a bit harsher than entirely necessary because of how angry he was with the insult dealt at Kili.

Next week: Dís, her arrival to Erebor, finding out what's happened to her family, her own first meetings with the new members of it, and a piece of her past not even Thorin knew of...


	4. Hearts of Stone

New piece for this collection. This time focused on Dís (took some liberties when creating her background and history). The name Vili is used for her husband because it was easy and the one I've seen more often in fics.

Now, a little explanation on timelines, because I think it's necessary. First of all, according to wikipedia, since autumn ends the 22 or so of December, the last moon of it would happen sometime between the 21 of September and that day. However, I have to things to say to that: if the Company was in Rivendell in Midsummer (21 of June), did it really take them six months to get to Erebor? In my opinion it's a bit too much, even considering the whole 'getting lost in Mirkwood', followed by their several-weeks long (according to the books) imprisonment in the Woodland Realm, any possible delay in Laketown and the chance that they might have made it to the Lonely Mountain early (unlikely considering how insistent Thorin was that they keep moving). It also couldn't have been too early because it began snowing shortly after Smaug's attack on Laketown.

Second of all, when they were in Rivendell, the day was named as Midsummer, the middle of the summer, rather than the beginning of it, the Solstice. That is part of the Wheel of the Year, according to which Dec. 22 is Midwinter, not the start of it), the end of Autumn then would be in Samhain, Nov. 1.

So, after all that explanation, the bottom line is that, according to me, Autumn ended in Samhain, the last moon was in the week prior. The Battle of Five Armies happened in the first days of November, and from there everything else.

In this series seasons will follow the Wheel of the Year, rather than modern dates (because I think they fit better, and Jackson already used them, so I'm making them (head)cannon.

I'll address the timeline when it comes to years in the next One-Shot.

* * *

><p><strong>Hearts of Stone<strong>

Dís Stoneheart, daughter of Thrain, sister of Thorin, mother of Fili and Kili, arrived to Erebor (returned, after so long, she'd thought the day would never come...) two moons after the start of the new year. Two months since that raven had found her in Ered Luin and reported on what had become of her brother's Company, the retaking of Erebor, the slaying of Smaug and what was becoming known across Arda as the Battle of Five Armies... it was also then that she learnt that one of her sons, her beloved sons (all she had left of her One, Vili) had perished at the Pale Orc's hands. The same monster that had long before sworn to one day extinguish Durin's Line... and he'd come close, judging by everything the raven had told her, it was through little more than miracles that her brother and her youngest son were even alive.

Dís had been so desperate to see her family, to know what had really happened to her Fili, that she wasted no time gathering together as many dwarves as could get on the move right away and the caravan left just two days later. The pace had been a bit hard, but they were dwarrows, and even the coldest winter winds did little to slow them down. They were reaching the foot of the Lonely Mountains almost a fortnight after Yule.

Everyone was there to receive her, receive them all: her brother Thorin, along with her son Kili and the rest of their company, and Daín and his people. She also noticed that they weren't the only ones walking around Erebor and that seemed to live inside the Lonely Mountain, there were others: humans. Dís didn't understand.

After the group was received and some kind words from the king, Dís was informed in private, by Balin, that her brother regretfully couldn't attend to her personally for the moment, as he had a prior engagement with a group of traders that had arrived earlier that same day. Kili, however, had been released from his duties for the day, and Balin took her to him. On the way they passed by a tall auburn-haired female whom Dís thought dressed like an elf, but looked more like the human females she'd seen a few times in the North. In any case, she just nodded respectfully at her and Balin before moving past them (Dís also could have sworn she'd been touching her son's hand right before, but couldn't be sure).

Dís tried to talk to her son about what had transpired in what she could hear was being called the 'Battle of Five Armies', but every time a shadow would fall over Kili's eyes and whatever mumble came out of his lips was next to incomprehensible. It got bad enough that at some point another dwarf (Bofur, from House Ur, the one clan who wasn't originally from Erebor, yet was absolutely loyal to her brother) approached the young prince and quietly asked him if he should fetch some lass by the name of Tauriel, though Kili refused quietly. Dís believed the name sounded elvish, and did not understand how any she-elf would be able to help her son, but chose not to insist on that topic, not yet.

In the end it was Dwalin who gave her a full account of the battle, who finally told her how her son had died. The moment he finished talking the dwarf princess practically jumped onto her feet, rushing down the hall and to the quarters she knew to be her brother's. It was quite easy for her to get into the main sitting room. However, right as she was about to force open the doors to the sleeping chambers, she heard a voice that gave her pause. It wasn't the deep, husky voice of her people, no, it was much softer, keener; neither the lilting tones of the elves, nor the rogue ones most men seemed to have... and then she remembered, the 'other' living in Erebor. The halfling...

"Thorin!" She heard him call to her brother in a tone that seemed to convey worry and probably a hint of annoyance. "You need to stop this!"

"No lakhdûn (light)." Thorin murmured back. "You know not Dís like I do. She's as fierce as any dwarrow warrior, more even, ever since Vili died and she took to looking after her sons on her own. I might have been around, but no one will ever doubt that she was quite capable of looking after herself and her boys. Once she finds out what happened in Ravenhill... how close Kili came to death, how Fili died, and how I did nothing to save either of them..."

"But you couldn't...!" The halfling sounded truly distressed. "Thorin... With Fili... I was there too, remember? There's nothing either of us could have done. He was too far away, there's no way we could have ever reached them in time. And Kili... you were fighting against Azog at the time and... I think I was unconscious then. Something hit me in the head before I could catch up with either of you and by the time I recovered consciousness it was all over." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more. If it weren't for Tauriel..."

There was that name again, just who was Tauriel? Dís had the feeling she needed to find out, and soon.

"I will always owe her the life of my sister-son..." Thorin agreed. "But you shouldn't be blaming yourself Bilbo, there's nothing you could have done."

"Exactly what I'm trying to tell you!" The hobbit retorted. "I... I know Fili wasn't my kin, but I cared greatly for him, just like I care about Kili, and everyone in the Company. That day, when I went to Ravenhill, it wasn't just for you, much as I might love you. I did it for them as well. I regret I wasn't able to save him... technically, nothing I did actually saved any of you..."

"You tried..." Thorin's voice sounded so small in that moment.

"So did you." The halfling's... Bilbo's voice seem to catch in his throat. "Thorin... I still remember what you were like when I found you. All the blood, the hole in your chest...you wouldn't have survived if it weren't for the Lady and her Gift..." There was a pause, and when his voice was heard again it was hoarse, as if he could hardly speak. "I know not what I would have done had I lost you Thorin, you... I cannot imagine life without you."

"Just like I cannot imagine living my life without you by my side, marlûn (love)."

"You did what could be done. You killed Azog, once and for all, and with that and Kili's and Tauriel's own defeat of Bolg the line of Durin is safe now. You avenged Fili and protected your remaining kin. No one could ever ask for more than that."

"Dís would still be quite in her rights to flay me alive. I was the one who pulled her sons into the madness that was this quest."

"Knowing your nephews like I do, something tells me it was more them pushing you into taking them along and there was no way they wouldn't have been a part of it."

As she silently left her brother's quarters Dís had to admit to herself that the halfling (Bilbo) was right, and not only on that, but on everything. Her sons had chosen to go on that journey. They had all known how dangerous it could be, the likeliness of not all of them returning. They'd known and accepted that. And as much as Dís might want to rage at her brother for the death of her oldest son... Fili had been an adult (if only barely), a warrior, one who had died in battle; a battle he'd been a part of by his own choice. She had to respect that. She didn't have to like it, but she had to respect his choice.

Then there was her other son. Kili was alive, and apparently it was only thanks to Tauriel, whoever that might be (Dwalin had only spoken of her in very general terms). The dwarrowdam knew she'd have to find out more about that, but first... first she had a son to mourn over.

**xXx**

The first time Dís saw her brother's consort properly (a glimpse from the distance upon being welcomed into Erebor did not count) was at the end of her vigil. She'd spent a considerable time on her knees, beside her son's tomb, with no food or drink (as was tradition) and was a little faint; which might explain why she didn't notice the small being until he'd reached the tomb himself, placing the object in his hands over it. The princess distractedly took notice of the fact they were plants, flowers... she did not understand. Then again, she was a dwarrowdam, dwarrows left jewels (or when lacking that, smooth river stones) in the tombs of their loved ones; apparently hobbits left them flowers... And not any flowers. Dís had seen them before, popular among the men, they were roses, except they were a darker red than any she'd ever seen mortals interested in. An instinct told her that meant something.

Bilbo eeped, spinning around in shock as his hand reached for the blade the dwarrow princess belatedly realized was strapped to his hip. It was also then that she noticed she'd spoken the last part of her thought out-loud.

"My lady..." The halfling, Bilbo, bowed to her respectfully.

"Dís, daughter of Thráin, sister of Thorin." The dwarrowdam introduced herself proudly. "Mo... mother of Kili and Fili." She fixed her eyes on the hobbit. "At your service, Master Burglar."

The halfling's face twisted at those word and for a second Dís believed she'd dealt him insult somehow (though that was his title, according to the contract), until she noticed he was actually blushing a bit.

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours my lady." The hobbit eventually remembered his manners. "You asked about the flowers."

"I have seen roses, but never before so dark." She admitted.

"I guess not, they're not the most common, but certainly the best I could get." Bilbo murmured with a half shrug. "Dark crimson roses, for mourning. If I had access to better gardens I would give him so much more... but that's not possible."

"Giving flowers to the dead is tradition with your people then?" She'd been wondering about that.

"Mostly, yes." Bilbo nodded. "Some families choose to plant a garden over the graves of their loved ones, or bury them in the roots of other plants. See, we live under the blessings of the Green Lady, a Queen of the Valar the elves call Yavanna, the wife of your own Mahal, Aulë. We hobbits believe we're part of the earth, and go back to it after we die. That even when we're gone, a part of us remains, in every tree and flower..." His voice broke briefly as he turned to the tomb. "I know your beliefs are different. And I wouldn't want to change them. Still, a part of me cannot help but want to give Fili flowers, show him in the way that is instinctive to me how much I cared for him... how much I will always care."

"You say you would give him other flowers if you could." She commented. "Which ones would be right for this?"

"Besides the dark roses..." Bilbo pondered a bit before he began enlisting: "Dark pink roses to show how thankful I am to him, for everything he's done. Cyclamen for good-bye and my own resignation; chrysanthemum to tell him what a wonderful friend he was and my wishes for his rest; and a magnolia for his nobility."

"You honor my son with your wishes, even if you aren't able to do it through actual flowers." The princess told him honestly.

"I wish I'd been able to do more." Bilbo admitted quietly. "That that day in Ravenhill I'd been faster, a better fighter..."

"You did all that could be done, Master Hobbit, as I'm sure my brother did."

"He's convinced you're going to flay him alive for letting Fili die..."

"I..." Dís had to force herself to swallow and keep her composure. "A part of me would love nothing more than to make someone pay for the loss of my beloved son. But I know that as easy a target as Thorin would be, it wasn't his fault. Fili made his own choices, we all did. And Thorin killed the muzmel (beast of all beasts) that murdered Fili... I could ask for nothing more."

"That he did." Bilbo agreed, then added. "I shall leave you then to your vigil, my lady."

"Call me Dís, master Hobbit." She told him with unexpected sweetness. "After all, we are family now, are we not?"

"That we are m... Dís." Bilbo nodded. "Then I hope you'll call me Bilbo."

"Of course, Bilbo." She nodded, granting him a small smile.

The halfling was about to tell the catacombs when suddenly the dwarrowdam called to him:

"Who is Tauriel?" It was an unexpected question.

"The Lady Tauriel..." Bilbo actually took a moment to decide how to answer that. "She's an elf, former captain of the Thranduil's guard."

"Former?" That called Dís's attention.

"She was exiled after refusing to follow her king's orders to stay inside the borders of the Woodland Realm, choosing instead to go after the orcs hunting us down, fighting them in Lake-town and eventually saving Kili's life from the poison of a goblin arrow." Bilbo elaborated.

"Did she?" Dís honestly didn't know what to make of such revelations. "And from what I've gathered, that wasn't the last time she saved him."

"Or the first." Bilbo quipped. "And he had as much chance to save her as well. Mostly as we were going down the river with the goblins after us all. It was then that Kili got an arrow to his leg, and it would have been worse if it weren't for her, as well as Prince Legolas and a few others from the guard."

"It seems there is more yet I must learn about this quest you were all part of." Dís decided.

"It would be my pleasure to ask any questions you might have, m... Dís." Bilbo chose his words very carefully. "Yet some things, I believe, would better if you heard them from the mouth of your own son. He would be better able to explain."

"Then I shall speak with Kili." She decided.

**xXx**

Talk to her son she did. It was a hard conversation. Learning how close she'd come to losing not just one but both of her sons, time and again. As it turned out, she didn't only owe his life to the she-elf, Lady Tauriel, but also to Gandalf, Bilbo and (directly or indirectly) to ever single member of her brother's company.

She also learnt, once and for all, why everyone got a gleam in their eyes when the exiled she-elf was mentioned.

"She's my One, 'amad (mother)..." Kili told her, eyes bright. "Tauriel is my Khi (One)."

There was a quiet intensity to his voice, his expression, stance... all of him. It was such that his mother was left breathless. Never before had she seen her son like that, ever but... she had seen someone else act like that, many years before... In that moment Kili looked so much like his father, liker her own Khi that Dís couldn't help but feel breathless.

She didn't try to deny her son's love, or block it, she would never do that. She knew it wouldn't be easy, many wouldn't accept a dwarrow being with a she-elf, especially when that dwarrow was from the line of Dúrin, and the crown prince to Erebor... at the same time, she'd heard (from Daín of all people) about what had happened the last time someone dared say anything negative about her son, and she knew that as long as the Company remained true to each other there was nothing they wouldn't be able to handle.

And it wasn't only that. On one hand there was Fili. She had already lost one of her sons, that one to death, and was not about to lose the other one. Besides, Kili believed Tauriel to be his One and, if nothing else, she trusted him to know his own heart. Mahal knew it wouldn't be an easy match, but then again, many had opposed when she and Vili had begun courting (technically she began courting him, as he kept feeling she was too far above him), yet that did not stop her, nor him, once they got started. Many expressed negative opinions on their union, but she didn't mind, her One was all she'd ever need. And after they got their sons, and with her brother on her side... What else could she have asked for?

Kili and Tauriel weren't alone, of course, they had the support of all their friends in the Company, and it was quite obvious that Thorin was willing to stand by them, not only as Kili's uncle, but also as King Under the Mountain, and all of that showed in the braids and beads on the she-elf's hair. Yes, they would be alright.

Still, she could only imagine how nervous the lady must feel, which is what eventually convinced her to go look for her, put her at ease. Of course, she still questioned the girl, it was only right, if she was to be her daughter. She could see it then, the hint of steel beneath the softness that was so characteristic of the elves. The dwarrow princess still didn't understand how her son had come to love her, truly and absolutely (he'd always been easy to love, but nothing had ever gone beyond silly crushes and infatuations, until then); but she could see the love as true, for both of them, so nothing more was needed, not really. She would stand by them as well.

"I may not understand how my son has come to love you, though it is clear to me he does, indeed." She told Tauriel. "Just as it is clear to me that you love him too. I could ask for nothing more. You have my blessing."

**xXx**

The wedding was a beautiful and somewhat complex ceremony, a mix of traditions not only from elves and dwarves, but a handful of details from hobbits as well. However, one thing among everything stood out most to Dís: the vows.

"Heart to thee... Body to thee... Soul to thee... Always and forever, so mote it be."

There was something beseeching about those words, as if they didn't belong in any language of mortals, or even to most languages of immortals. It was until later, that she was explained what was so important about those words, how those same vows had been pronounced by her brother and his own Consort on Ravenhill, and the one who'd given them those vows along with Thorin's life... the one thanks to whom he'd survived against all odds...

"Why did you not tell me you had met Mesemu-amdâr?" She demanded of her brother.

Thorin sat up abruptly, eyes wide at her entrance. Dís found him in his private sitting room, with his head in his Consort's lap, hands carding gently through her brother's hair. It was truly a very intimate moment, she knew that; and yet she was almost wild in her need for answers and not even propriety would be able to stop her.

"What did she just say?" Bilbo asked softly, curious.

He had begun to learn khuzdul (as had Tauriel) having been given permission as Royal Consort; yet he knew nowhere near enough to understand what his-in-law sister had just said, exactly.

"Mesemu-amdâr." Thorin repeated. "It means Jewel of Mercy... it's a legend of my people, about a lady who took mercy on them during their darkest hour, saved their lives." He took a deep breath. "This was after Azanulbizar, before most of us managed to find each other again and establish the colony in Ered Luin." He shook his head. "What I found most curious was how so many dwarrows believed in her, even those who'd never met each other..."

"That, nadad, is because Mesemu-amdâr is not a legend... she never was." Dís told him quietly. "I understand that you've never seen her yourself, but I have. It is to her that I owe the title of Stoneheart, she was the one who gave it to me."

That called Thorin's attention right away. By the time he'd met his sister again she was already known as Dís Stoneheart, and never had he dared ask why...

"It wasn't supposed to go like that, you know?" She commented, taking a seat as she began her story. "She did not call me Stoneheart, not exactly... what she said was that dwarrows like I, like our people, we had Hearts of Stone..."

Yes, that was what she'd said, Dís could still remember that conversation as if it had happened just the day before (and not a century or so prior).

_After Frerin's death, and Grandfather's, and her father's disappearance things were just too hard. Most of the survivors from Azanulbizar (those who hadn't left after Smaug's invasion of Erebor) went their different ways. Most of their hopes had gone along with their last King Under the Mountain and none of them knew what they were supposed to do anymore. _

_Thorin had been so driven by grief and survivor's guilt, and he'd been so sure that their father was still alive somehow, somewhere... Dís didn't try to stop him when he chose to go looking for him, followed by the sons of Fundin. She didn't try to follow him either, instead she chose to finalize her courtship with Vili (which had begun before the battle) and pledged herself to him, leaving Khazad-dûm as his wife. _

_Years passed, dwarrows coming and going, though some managed to stay together as a sort of nomad tribe. Eventually they had to stop though. When she became pregnant with Fili. It wasn't easy, pregnancy on a dwarrowdam. Some still saw her as a princess, so when she and Vili chose to stay in a small town in the West, others stayed with them. _

_Things weren't easy. The Winter was too near and they had next to no provisions. And then, right when they'd begun to lose all hope, she'd appeared... with skin like that of the men, hair like the elves, eyes like the most perfect dwarven jewels, and a dress that seemed to mix everything. She saved them. With clothes, food and even just her compassion; helped them establish themselves, make new lives for themselves. Dís was sure a good number of her people would have died that winter without her, herself and her unborn child included. _

_The Jewel of Mercy, it was what the dwarrows called her, for she was as precious to them as the greatest of jewels, and it was her mercy that saved them all. Dís did her best to befriend her, at first because she had her doubts about the lady's intentions, and later on because she couldn't help but be curious about the one who'd done so much for them, without asking for anything in return (it just went against everything Dís knew). _

"_Why are you doing this?" The dwarrowdam finally got to ask one day. _

"_Whatever do you mean?" The Lady seemed honestly curious. _

"_You saved our lives, are still saving them, never asking for anything in return." The princess explained, carefully. "Why?" _

"_You needed it." She said, as if it were the simplest thing. "I've always wanted to get to know your people better. There just was never a chance. First there was the matter of the Silmarils, the Nauglamir, and all that... and then Khazad-dûm and all the wars... I was, in fact, on my way to visit Erebor when I learnt of Smaug. I went there to help the survivors from Dale as much as I could, and then went looking for you. Met and helped what dwarrows I could along the way, and then I met you." _

"_So, this is what you do then?" Dís still didn't understand. "Travel around Arda helping people? Anyone, just because?" _

"_Mostly, yes." The blonde smiled at the dwarf-lady. "I'm a Guardian, it's what I exist for." _

_The princess still did not understand, but eventually she decided to simply stop trying. _

_However, she learnt most in another conversation, shortly before the lady took her leave of them (Fili was still a toddler and it was a couple of years still before Kili would be born). _

"_I know not why all you dwarrows must be so disagreeing when it comes to the other races." The Lady admitted with a hint of annoyance. "You are all Éru's children in the end..." _

"_But we're not." Dís pointed out. "Our Fathers were created by Mahal." _

"_True as that might be." The blonde said. "It changes not the fact that it was Éru who gave your Fathers life. Aulë might have carved them from stone, but neither them nor any other dwarrow would have ever lived if it wasn't by His will. The same is true for elves, men and any other creature in these lands... in the end, you're all Éru's children, all the same in His eyes." _

_Dís had nothing to say to that. _

"_Though I have to admit that in all my years, even knowing that the first dwarves had been carve from stone, I never imagined how much like stone you would be." The Lady admitted. _

"_Is that supposed to be an insult?" The princess wasn't sure. _

"_Not at all." The taller female assured her. "I mean it in the best possible way. You're like stones, strong, enduring, each precious in their own way, weather simple river-stones or the brightest of gems. And... even when something happens, even if something makes you break, you can be put back together, you can recover and move on and... sometimes, when a layer of stone breaks, it will reveal a most beautiful jewel inside." She smiled beatifically. "And when you love... your love is as strong as a mountain. So yes, I do believe you, your hearts are like stone..." _

_Hearts like stone... and like stone their hearts could break... and also like stone they could be rebuilt, and maybe, maybe the breaking would bring a precious jewel forth... those words were her greatest comfort after she lost Vili, after she was left alone with two sons. She'd had Thorin, he'd found her, found them, years before, when Kili was still a newborn; but it just wasn't the same. Vili had been her One, nothing and no one could ever take his place in her heart. _

_She'd murmured those words, the Mesemu-amdâr's words to herself those days, so much that eventually dwarrows began using them to describe her. Saying she had a heart of stone... and so, Dís Stoneheart came to be. _

"So... this Mesemu-amdâr was the Lady Eleana then?" Bilbo concluded.

"Eleana?" Dís asked, intrigued.

Truth be told, in all (the brief) time they'd spoken to each other, the lady's original name had never been brought up. She seemed happy enough with the name the dwarrows had chosen for her and... she also seemed used to changing names.

"It's elven." Bilbo clarified. "It means Gift of the Stars..."

"She said she was no elf." Dís blurted out, shocked. "I asked her once."

"That she was not." Thorin stated quietly. "Though we know not what she was, other than she had great power, and was a Guardian."

"She said that once, that she was a Guardian." Dís nodded. "Even if she never said what exactly she was Guardian of."

"The children of Éru." Bilbo told her quietly.

There was more, she knew it, could feel it deep in her bones, and in her heart of stone... but an instinct also told her that it wasn't yet time, that the information would come when it was needed, she just had to be patient. So she didn't ask. She just nodded at the two and went on with her life.

Time passed, and Dís created a new life for herself, as princess of Erebor, sister to the King, mother to the Heir Apparent. She allowed the pieces of her heart that had broken off at her oldest son's death to mend together as much as they could, as she did her best to care for the family she had left, as well as her new daughter, brother and the rest of their Company, who had all become more kin than kith during their travels.

Then Imbolc came, the end of Winter, and the revelation of a letter that carried information the princess could have never imagined. She learnt that not only had her brother been badly injured on Ravenhill that day, but he'd been as good as dead, that had been his Fate, until one Lady intervened, until she changed Fate, for Thorin, and Bilbo and by extension for many others around Arda. She couldn't begin to comprehend the implications of it all, she truly couldn't... and yet she knew, instinctively, that one day she would be finding out. But until then, until she was needed again, her Heart of Stone would carry her on.

* * *

><p>So, how did you like Dís? I don't know if its the influence of fanfics, or just my reasoning that if all the others Durins are awesome, then Dís must be even more so! It's also why I wanted to give her a title, like her brother has, and the title for this piece just kept echoing inside my head. At first it didn't seem right, more an insult than a compliment, until I saw the other side of it.<p>

In any case, I hope you like it, and that you enjoyed reading this.

Next part: After promising her heart to Aragorn and finding little support in her direct family, Arwen follows her grandmother's advice to go to Erebor, even if she doesn't know what help she'll find in a dwarven kingdom... of course she ignores said dwarves have a she-elf for crown-princess, who's married to a dwarf!


	5. Vows

So it's Arwen's turn now. I would like to make it known that I was inspired to write this after reading a short One-Shot that had a conversation between Bilbo and Arwen about their loves, highlighting the things the two of them had in common, loving to-be-Kings, as well as what those loved ones had in common (them being Thorin and Aragorn, of course). I cannot remember the name of that fic right now, but I liked it and wanted to try my hand at something like that. Then I decided Tauriel fit much better into it and... well, this came to be.

Now, I said I would address the issue of timelines here. It's like this. Purist fans will of course remember the basic times between events (maybe even the years specific things happened). I know all that too. However, it's like with the whole Midsummer, last-moon-of-autumn thing. In this case, I have several things to base myself on: In both the Hobbit and LotR movies, mention is made of sixty years passing between the end of Bilbo's quest to Erebor and the birthday where he chose to 'disappear'; yet no mention is made of any other long span of time; though in book-canon, seventeen years pass between that fated birthday party and Frodo having to leave the Shire. Then there's the fact that at the end of BoFA Thranduil suggested to his son that he travel west and find a ranger who called himself Strider... if we were to follow book-canon, Aragorn would have been 10 years old at the time, going by the name Estel and living in Rivendell. However, if we take away the seventeen years I mentioned... that would make him twenty-seven, a time during which he was already a ranger, chieftain of the Dúnedain and traveling through Eriador.

In summary, for the purpose of this series the Quest of Erebor happened 16 years after it did in canon (I'm also moving birth-dates and so on of Bard, his family and any other mortal who might be relevant). The remaining year will be in between the party and Frodo actually leaving the Shire.

I suppose a lot of my explanation is unnecessary to all but the more hardcore fans... but since I am one, I considered it necessary to build it up, and share it with you. In any case, I hope I explained it right. Now, on with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Vows <strong>

There was some tension in Erebor, it had been like that for a while, since the Royal Consort had stopped spending the winter season in the Lonely Mountain, two years prior. The first time hadn't been his choice. A caravan had reported that something had happened in the Misty Mountains, a huge landslide had practically destroyed the only safe pass (the Company told everyone it must have been another Thunder Battle); and while it could be fixed, it would take a while, which made any travel for the season impossible. The following year, near the end of the Fall, Rue (the young raven who'd long since offered to act as personal messenger between King Thorin and his consort); arrived with a sad message: the yearly visits would stop.

It was something that at least the Durins and the Company had been expecting already. They'd known from the very first time the hobbit had left the Lonely Mountain, that one day he might not be coming back, not because he didn't want to, but because once his Destiny caught up with him, that would be it. And it had finally happened, in a way no one could have ever planned.

Bilbo's cousin, Drogo Baggins and his wife Primula had been in an accident while sailing, both had died, leaving their twelve-year-old son, Frodo, all alone. For the time being the boy was under the care of the patriarch of his mother's family, though Bilbo had been visiting often and was considering offering to adopt the youngling and take him to Bag End.

Drogo had been Bilbo's favorite cousin, one of the few who never mocked or doubted the stories Bilbo told about his trip to the Lonely Mountain, and never criticized him for his yearly trips back. No, the other hobbit had been kind and understanding, listening to Bilbo rant about their shared relatives, the Sackville-Bagginses (who kept trying to take Bag-End and Bilbo's stuff, though, thankfully, the Gamgees were always around to be of assistance); he also tended to worry about his cousin being alone all the time. Bilbo actually thought he might have suspected the truth, or a part of it (that Bilbo had someone outside the Shire), but never said a word about it.

And Frodo... he was a child, one who needed a tutor, a guide... and Bilbo was more than willing to be that person. Frodo had been such a sweet, loving child, Bilbo couldn't allow that to be lost, even with such a tragedy as the loss of his parents and... though he dared not admit it, even to himself, Bilbo could feel there was something else at work. Frodo was important, or would be, one day. The most important of all. He could remember, with almost painful clarity, the words written by the Gift of the Stars, the Lady Eleana, in her last letter to him and his mate:

_(...) You are such a remarkable being, and as much good as you've done thus far, the Quest for Erebor was never meant to be the end of the road for you, there is more yet to come, as you might be able to suspect already. And even though that Woven Fate is now gone, that means not you cannot help when the time comes, as I'm sure you will. The One meant to carry on the task of freeing Arda in the future is not yourself, and never was, but you shall be an important part in his coming to be the individual he's meant to be... if you allow it, that is._

He and Thorin had long ago decided that they would, in fact allow it; and not only that, they would do everything in their power to make sure things turned out alright. The halfling couldn't begin to imagine how Frodo, the young not-even-a-tween-yet who looked so fragile, pushed down by pain and grief, would one day be the Savior their world had been waiting for, but he held no doubts that it was, indeed, him and just as it had been foretold, Bilbo would come to be an important part in him becoming the individual he was meant to be.

The crux of the matter was the absence of the Royal Consort for two consecutive winters, and the effect that was having in one King Thorin (mainly short-temper and near endless brooding).

It was to all that, that Arwen, daughter of Elrond, Lord of Imladris, granddaughter of Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien, arrived. She wasn't actually sure why she was in the Lonely Mountain at all, her grandmother had told her to go after her latest disagreement with her father. Their talks had been tense since he'd first learnt of his daughter promising her hand in marriage to Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain (and, unknown to all but his closest kith and kin, the Heir of Isildur and Heir to the Throne of Gondor).

Elrond refused to accept that his daughter would choose to marry a man, a mortal, that she might choose mortality over the eternal life of the firstborn, that he might lose her to the last fate of all mortal races: death, and not see her again until the end of time. Arwen hated causing her Adar (Father) grief, but she just loved Aragorn too much.

Galadriel had suggested that she take some time to herself, and visit Erebor while she was at it, and while Arwen had no idea how visiting a Dwarven Realm would help her, at all, she trusted her grandmother, and therefore followed the advice.

Arwen silently followed a dwarf through a number of halls (enough she was quite sure she would never be able to find her way out without help). She was still more than a little confused, as the dwarf that had received her hadn't seemed exactly surprised to see her, or an elf, at all. He was quite convinced he knew where she was going and had begun leading her right away.

She reached what looked like a set of apartments richly decorated; was just at the entrance when her guide abruptly stopped, allowing another figure to step past. Arwen blinked, the unknown individual was a young girl, too slim to be a dwarf, yet with a quiet strength about her that the she-elf could sense more than see; a cascade of hair a dark mahogany completely straight but for the slight curling at the tips, which looked redder; her eyes though, were the most striking feature, a mix of blue, green and brown, they held the light of the stars.

Arwen didn't get the chance to ask who that was, her guide answered the question without need for it as he bowed respectfully at the youngling.

"Princess." He murmured quietly.

"Gimli..." The girl (she looked quite young, Arwen would have guessed ten, had she been human, though she obviously wasn't). "You know you need not address me as such. I am just a girl."

"A girl who is also princess of Erebor." Arwen's guide reminded her.

"We all know the throne shall never be mine." She stated rather calmly. "And that's just fine by me, let Adad (Dad) worry about one day ruling Erebor, and Fili after him."

It looked like Gimli was going to say something else, but right then the girl's eyes turned to Arwen, she seemed to be studying her, with a quiet intensity that almost made the daughter of Elrond fidget, though she managed to keep herself still, if barely.

"You must be our unexpected guest." She declared with a self-satisfied nod. "Stiarna, daughter of Kili, at your service."

"Arwen, daughter of Elrond, at yours." The she-elf replied almost automatically, before she processed what had been said. "You knew I was coming?"

"Since you passed the borders of Mirkwood." The girl stated, then added in a conspiratorial tone. "You'll find that birds around here, especially thrushes and ravens are quite the gossipers, worse that the human women down in Dale or Esgaroth..." She giggled. "In any case, I shall take my leave, my lady. Naneth is inside."

A corner of Arwen's mind pointed out that a girl in Erebor, a princess of the Lonely Mountain judging by what had been said by the red-haired dwarf, had just used an elven word to refer to her mother... yet there was no time to wonder about it, for right then her guide signaled for her to follow, stepping into the main room of the apartments.

Arwen had a handful of seconds to look at the woman in the room before the redheaded dwarf called her attention. She was tall and lean, like an elf or a human, with creamy skin and a curtain of auburn hair falling down her back, a number of plaits and beads making for a rather interesting style; she wore a simple enough gown made of dark linen, in shades of brown and green (as one would expect from Woodland elves) and leather boots; however, most noticeable was the wrap around her shoulders, made of fine green silk and embroidered with silver and tiny jewels.

"Your Highness..." Gimli called right then.

"Gimli!" The woman smiled brightly at the dwarf. "I've told you time and again, call me Tauriel. Your father is kith and as good as kin, and so are you."

"You're still the princess consort of Erebor, my lady." The dwarf stated with a small smile.

The auburn-haired female, princess consort of Erebor, smiled kindly at the dwarf in a gesture that Arwen believed signaled an exchange the two had been having and going back to for a while. Her pondering stopped when the woman's eyes, hazel, fixed on her.

"So this is our guest." She declared with a smile, getting on her feet.

"Arwen, daughter of Elrond, your Highness, at your service." Arwen did her best curtsy.

"Ah..." The other female nodded, her smile widening. "Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, wife of Kili, at yours." She made a pause before adding. "I am well acquainted with your father and brothers, my lady Arwen."

"Please, just Arwen, princess." Arwen said immediately.

"In that case, I insist on you calling me Tauriel." The auburn-haired stated. "My family and I are not the kind to stand on ceremony unless absolutely necessary."

Arwen thought the dwarf might have snorted at that, but not a word was said.

"I shall take my leave then, prin...Tauriel." Gimli smiled almost cheekily.

"Go." Tauriel nodded. "Before your father thinks you've skipped out of your lessons to go hide and seek with my son again."

Gimli muttered some choice words under his breath, which Arwen did not understand as they were spoken in khuzdul; and while Tauriel only caught a few, they were enough to know that it stung the young dwarf that some treated him like a child because he chose to play with the little prince. Not that anyone could resist Fili when he wanted something, really, so it wasn't like others could talk. He was too much like his namesake, from what she'd been told.

"Would you please order some tea and pastries for us?" Tauriel asked before Gimli fully stepped out of the room. "It's a few hours before dinner yet and I'm sure Arwen would like a bit of a bite to eat after her travels, as would I for that matter."

"Of course, I'm sure Bombur will send something right away." Gimli nodded, finally leaving.

Arwen took a seat in a comfortable armchair across from the love-seat where the princess was perched. It was also until that moment that the raven-haired she-elf noticed there was a hole carved into the mountain wall right beside the princess, a window, for all intents and purposes. Not too big, but enough for some light to slip through; also, as she would discover eventually, it had a wonderful view of the valley that descended into Dale.

It was only a few minutes before another dwarf dashed into the room, carrying a tray with some tea and a plate of pastries, placed it in the table between the ladies before bowing to each of them, murmuring respectfully a word to the princess and leaving. Arwen just blinked.

"Please forgive Bein." Tauriel said with a small smile. "She's a shy little thing. Proud of being a handmaiden, but terribly afraid of most newcomers. Aska helps where she can, but still." The princess shook her head. "But eat, and drink."

Arwen took the offered cup of tea before trying a pastry. It was soft and sweet, different from anything she might have expected the dwarves to create.

"It's a special recipe." Tauriel said, as if reading her mind. "Given to the Head Cook, Bombur by the Royal Consort, Bilbo, different from what most dwarrows know, though everyone in Erebor takes great delight in its sweetness, especially the younglings."

Arwen nodded, even if there was a lot she still did not understand. Royal Consort? She had heard nothing of a Queen in the mountain, though enough was said everywhere in Arda about Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and his Company, 12 dwarves and one halfling from the west, on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

"I always wanted to meet you." Tauriel commented then. "I had the honor of meeting your Adar, Lord Elrond, as well as his sons: Elladan and Elrohir. They did me a great favor by standing by me as kin during my wedding, 22 years ago. Lord Elrond also gave his blessing to my eldest, Stiarna, when she was born, two years later. They spoke much about you, I regretted greatly that I couldn't get the chance to meet you as well." She shook her head, pushing the melancholy away. "But that's in the past now. Tell me Arwen, what brings you to Erebor in this day, especially on your own? We weren't expecting any visitors at this time."

"To be perfectly honest, I know not." The raven-haired answered. "Things have been tense with Adar recently, and after our latest disagreement grandmother suggested I take some time. She also implied I might find some help in Erebor, though I know not what she meant with that."

"Might I ask what's caused the tension between you and your kin?" Tauriel asked quietly.

She knew it was a delicate question, but if her growing suspicions were right and the Lady of the Golden Wood had sent Arwen to her (and she had no idea who else in Erebor might be able to do anything for the young elleth), she first needed to know what the situation was.

"He disagrees with a number of my choices of late." Arwen admitted, hesitantly, before revealing the full truth: "Mainly that of choosing Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a Dúnedain to be my husband."

"A mortal man..." Tauriel breathed out in understanding.

"Yes." The raven-haired nodded. "Father refuses to allow me my choice. Though I've sworn to take no other, and that I will not be traveling to Valinor, regardless of how many arrangements he makes." Once started, she couldn't seem to stop. "It's terrible. He's sent Aragorn from Rivendell, given him near-impossible tasks to fulfill before he may allow us to wed; probably in hopes that the match will never come to be. Aragorn cares too much for Adar to go behind his back; he would do anything that is asked of him, or die trying. And I know not what else to do! I don't even know why grandmother sent me here! How could I ever find help in a dwarven kingdom?!"

"I believe the Lady Galadriel did not send you to Erebor, per say, she sent you to me." Tauriel revealed, the state of the other elf pushing her to be sincere.

"Pardon me?" Arwen's shock was almost palpable.

"I am Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, son of Arahael, second Chieftain of the Dúnedain and Tawar, Woodland She-elf from Lindon." The auburn haired stated in a solemn tone as she purposefully pushed her hair behind one of her ears, revealing the pointed tip. "I am a Peredhel, and I've chosen to share in the gift of the Secondborn, death, out of love for my husband, my One: Kili, son of Vili, sister-son of Thorin and heir to the throne of Erebor."

Arwen was speechless. Though she wasn't quite sure which fact surprised her most: she'd known she and Aragorn weren't the first mortal-immortal pair (going back all the way to Lúthien and Beren), but there had been no others known in hundreds of years; and the idea of an elf, even a peredhel like Tauriel claimed to be, mated to a dwarf! And then there was the tiny little detail Arwen was just beginning to process that the auburn-haired had just claimed to be daughter of a Dúnadan herself, which meant she was kin (if distant) to her beloved Aragorn. Did he know? She didn't think so. Though it was evident that her Adar did.

"I think it might be best if I explain things more." Tauriel decided.

And she did. She explained the whole story to Arwen. All the way from her parents, their lives in what had once been Rhudaur, her father's death, the move to Mirkwood, her Naneth's connection with Thranduil's Queen. She didn't say much about her adolescence and early adult years in Greenwood as it wasn't that important, in the grand scheme of things, beyond her joining the Guard and eventually becoming captain. Then came the most important part, from her hunt of spiders in Mirkwood, to finding Thorin's Company, saving Kili, their talks while he was in a dungeon, the runestone, the fight by the dam as the Company was escaping; her choosing to disobey Thranduil's direct orders, the battle in Laketown, healing Kili, splitting up to follow their own duties... the Battle of Five Armies.

A slight, wordless exclamation slipped from Arwen's lips when hearing about the battle, the number of enemies so great the whole endeavor seemed absolutely hopeless. No mention was made of Thorin's gold-sickness. With Tauriel being the one to tell the story she could explain the holes in the story with the fact that she'd been absent. Arwen made to ask what had happened afterwards, when they were abruptly interrupted by what looked like a honey-haired missile.

"Amad (Mama)!" The child cried out, dashing across the room and jumping onto Tauriel's lap.

He was young, looking no older than three or four in human terms, very small, though with broader-shoulders than any human or elven child Arwen had ever seen (for his dwarven heritage), his hair was short and completely straight, a lighter auburn than Tauriel, with the slightest hint of blonde, and the deepest blue eyes Arwen had seen outside of the elves; at least that was what she thought until she saw the man that followed the boy.

He was a man, an older dwarf (Arwen wouldn't try to guess at his age, though it was obvious he was adult, yet not truly old), with straight raven-black hair adorned with a number of braids and beads, a rather short mustache and beard (in comparison to other dwarves she'd seen since arriving); he was dressed in sturdy but elegant clothes, prominently dark blue, the same blue of his eyes, of his son's eyes.

The Lady of Rivendell heard the father chastise his son (still in his mother's lap) softly in his own language before raising his head and claiming her lips with his own in a short but intense kiss. Arwen couldn't help the sharp intake of breath at the display, which called the attention of all three members of the family to her.

"Glóin did mention we had a visitor." The dwarf commented, bowing respectfully at Arwen and introducing himself. "Kili, son of Vili, sister-son of Thorin, prince of Erebor, at your service."

"Arwen, daughter of Elrond, at yours." Arwen bowed her own head respectfully.

"Ah..." The raven-haired dwarf nodded, as if her introduction explained everything. "I see."

Arwen was briefly distracted by the boy who, at his mother's prompting was waving a shy hello at her. The Lady of Rivendell could only smile at him, he was so adorable. For just an instant images overlapped in her mind, and she could see a little boy with dark ringlets and blue-gray eyes with the light of the stars waving at her instead, her own necklace hanging from his neck... the image was gone so fast she almost thought she might have imagined it, but a corner of her mind was sure she hadn't, she'd just seen her son...

"This is Fili, our son." Kili's voice brought her out of her reverie.

"And our daughter Stiarna... you might have seen her as she left my chambers, right before you arrived." Tauriel added for good measure.

"Stiarna..." Kili repeated, as if only then realizing something. "Where is she, exactly?"

"Where she always is, practicing her archery." Tauriel declared with a mix of amusement and resignation. "I see not what the point was in telling her she was too young to train with the other dwarflings, yet you still had that bow made for her."

"It's a toy!" Kili replied. "She wasn't supposed to take it so seriously."

"It's a bow, which you gave her, which you had made just for her." Tauriel pointed out, still in the same tone. "Add to that the fact that it's well-known we're both archers, of course she was going to take it seriously."

"She will be an amazing archer one day, you'll see." Kili declared proudly.

"Of that I have no doubt." Tauriel agreed. "I just could do without the scares she gives me every other day with her stunts." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Your mother did warn me that, after you, any child of yours was going to be a handful."

"I resent that!" Kili called in mocking hunt.

"You mean you resemble that, my dear." Tauriel quipped.

Arwen couldn't help herself, she laughed. There was such a rapport between those two, so much love, it was there in their every word, in their faces as they looked at each other. It mattered little that they might be from different races, that their people hadn't been in the best of terms for millennia (had actually been at war against each other for the longest time...) they just loved each other, and nothing else could get in the way of that. Arwen wondered if it would ever like that for her, if her and Aragorn would ever be like that...

"So, what are you ladies talking about?" Kili asked, taking a seat beside his wife.

"Our story." Tauriel answered honestly.

"Really?" His eyes gained a hint of mischief. "Did you tell her how gallant I was when we first met in Mirkwood?"

"You mean when you kept yelling at me to give you a dagger and I wouldn't, and you threw me the most incredulous look when I instead threw it at the spider about to eat you?" She retorted with a smirk of her own.

"I had everything under control!" He declared with a mock-indignant huff.

"I'm sure..." She drawled. "In any case, I already told her about that, I was..." She hesitated for just a moment before adding. "I was telling her about Ravenhill..."

"Oh..." That killed any humor stone-dead.

That part of the story was stilted, tense, and there was a lot left unsaid, but Arwen got the gist of it: Thorin, his nephews and one other going to Ravenhill to kill Azog, hoping to end the battle faster, splitting up to search for him; the hobbit arriving to tell them of the coming enemy army (a second one) and making them realize it was all a trap; Prince Fili being killed before their eyes, too far away for anyone to be able to do anything about it; Kili rushing wildly, wanting to avenge his brother, Thorin wanting to stop Azog before his other nephew ended up dead, hobbit and remaining dwarf trying to keep the coming army at bay, and two elves arriving to all that mess; Tauriel looking for Kili, and the two of them ending involved in a duel to the death against the leader of the second army: Bolg. And their salvation, in the form of a pebble.

"A pebble?" Arwen repeated, not quite able to wrap her head around it.

"We don't understand it ourselves." Kili admitted with a slight shrug. "Never have, never will. In the end, it was only by Mahal's favor that we survived, and we shall always be thankful for that. Just as we're thankful of the one who saved Uncle Thorin."

That part of the story was even more unbelievable. Arwen knew about Lady Eleana. It was thanks to her that her own mother, Celebrían, hadn't perished at the hands of the orcs who had abducted her, years before. She knew her brothers had found both, with the Lady working tirelessly to keep the she-elf alive. In the end the Lady of Imladris had had to leave for Valinor, her pain too much to be endured on Arda anymore. Arwen knew that by her own choice, her love for Aragorn, she would never see her mother again, not until the end of time at least; she had a feeling Celebrían had known, considering the last words she'd told her daughter before sailing to Aman:

"_I'm sorry to leave you like this, my child. You're still so young, have so much to learn. I'm sorry I won't be here to help you through it all. And yet, I have only one piece of advice to give you, which I hope might help you when you need it most. The hardest thing for a parent to do, is to let go, to allow their child to make their own lives; but it is something we must all do one day. The hardest thing for a child to do is to let go too, to step forth on their own, make their own lives; and that too is something everyone must do eventually. The day will come for you, to make your life, and you must be ready, don't let anything hold you back, not fear... and not love. I will always love you, my beautiful daughter, no matter where I am, and no matter where you might be. Love knows no boundaries, it's absolute, it's forever..." _

She couldn't have imagined it back then, of course, but in that moment, with Aragorn in her life, and with the consequences of the choice she herself was making, Arwen couldn't help but think that, in some way, her mother had known all along what would happen (it's not like she would be the first member of their family to have premonitions).

Tauriel and Kili continued the story then, taking turns to explain about the slow rebuilding of Erebor, a she-elf living inside the mountain, the men that took refuge for that winter inside too, the rebuilding of Dale the following spring, culminating with the coronation of the first king of the new Dale: Bard Blackarrow, the Dragonslayer. His heir, Prince Báin, who was married and had a four-year-old son called Brand. There was also the youngest princess, Tilda, married to a dwarf and with an eight-year-old daughter called Aska. The oldest princess, Sigrid, had passed away during the winter, the coughs taking her (rumors said she'd never fully recovered from the birth of her only child, Halbarad). The boy, less than two years old, was being raised by his father, Dathon, a Ranger from the North with help from his wife's family.

What caught and kept Arwen's attention, though, was when Tauriel and Kili got into the stories of their first year as a married couple. While their King and Company had been very supportive of the two, as well as the elder princess of Erebor (the King's sister) not all dwarves shared that attitude; some downright hated elves. And there were those who were brave (insane) enough to express their opinion about the match between their prince and the she-elf.

"You did what?!" Arwen eeped like she hadn't since she was a teen.

Which was perfectly normal considering what Tauriel had just told her she'd taken to doing whenever someone dared insult her mate in her presence.

"I threw knives at them." Tauriel repeated.

Arwen would have thought she was bluffing, except that the princess was being too calm and serious to be joking about throwing blades at people... dwarves.

"Amad... mother actually forged a collection of knives and gifted them to Tauriel for that very purpose." Kili added with a bright smile. "Blacksmithing is her craft."

"But... throwing knives..." Arwen still couldn't wrap her head around it.

"You need to stop trying to analyze this situation from the point of view of an elf, Arwen." Tauriel told her calmly. "These are dwarves I was dealing with. Their love for their One, their soul-mate is stronger than stones and as enduring and unchanging as the mountain we're in. They can also be quite possessive; not because they're greedy, opposite to what other races might believe. To dwarves, jewels are about more than the value of the materials, their true value lays in the work that was put into mining and shaping every piece. Same as the flowers are for the hobbits, or the songs and other forms of art for the elves."

"Stop!" Kili called with a laugh. "You're sharing all our secrets!"

"Oh shut it." Tauriel replied with a smile. "Jewels are important for dwarves, and their One will always be their most precious jewel. Which makes them both possessive and over-protective. My throwing knives in the defense of my mate was not only justified, it was accepted."

"She reacted like a true dwarrowdam would." Kili added. "It's what made some the older Clans accept her. They decided if she could embrace our culture, they could deal with her origins."

"It's not like I killed anybody." Tauriel stated calmly. "Of all the blades I threw, most were warnings, less than a dozen actually hit anyone and no injury was truly serious."

Arwen's eyes widened again at the confirmation that Tauriel had, in fact, injured people... dwarves! However, like her new friend had stated, it was a different culture.

"Well," Kili got on his feet, taking the boy in his arms. "I think it's about time this little one and I got a bath. Dinner will be in an hour and Uncle will burst a vein or something if he sees us like this." He made a pause as if considering before adding. "Why don't you show the Starlight Path to your friend?" He turned to Arwen. "My lady, this little one and I shall see you at dinner."

Arwen just nodded and smiled, waving back at the kid, before turning back to her new friend.

"Starlight Path?" The Daughter of Elrond asked, confused.

Tauriel just smiled, signaling to the raven-haired to follow. They left the suite, walking down the hall to what seemed, at first glance, like a dead-end, only it wasn't. A column marked a corner and behind it, in such a way that no one would know of it, except those who knew it existed, was a set of stairs. Tauriel lead Arwen up for what must have been two levels, not a word said.

When she left the stairs, fully stepping on the landing, Arwen was left breathless, watching her surroundings in wonder. She was standing on one end of a walkway, made of perfectly smooth stones, both sides of it were almost overflowing with all kinds of flowers, a rainbow of colors and scents; at the end a white-ash tree, still growing, already amazing. And as she followed the tree up, eventually Arwen's eyes laid on the darkening skies, and the stars shining down...

"The Starlight Path..." She abruptly understood exactly why the place was called that, she turned to Tauriel. "What is this place?"

"This is my husband's wedding gift to me." Tauriel answered, full of feeling. "Kili knows how much I love starlight; and how I was pretty much giving it up by coming to live here... so he made a new starlight path for me to walk."

"He loves you so much." Arwen murmured. "Just as much as you love him, I think."

Tauriel just nodded, having no words to express herself in that moment.

**xXx**

Arwen stayed in Erebor for a fortnight, before deciding it was time to go back to Rivendell. Tauriel had assured her she would make arrangements for her safety back to her father's home, even if no details were given. Which was why she wasn't expecting it when she found none other than her Aragorn waiting at the foot of the Lonely Mountain for her. Legolas was with him (his friend had recently convinced him to visit Mirkwood and his father if only briefly).

"Tauriel!" Arwen cried out in shock.

"What?" The princess of the mountain smiled impishly at her friend. "I told you I would get a couple of Rangers to escort you to Rivendell, there's no way I could have known that the closest ones were Strider and Prince Legolas, right?"

The bright smile in the auburn-haired peredhel said it all.

"I have a gift for you." Tauriel announced before Arwen could go to where the other two were waiting. "It's not much but... It's all I can give you, I know you will make good use of it."

Arwen took the rolled up scroll Tauriel was offering her, not understanding. However, there was no time right then, the others were waiting for her. So Arwen slipped the scroll into her clothes, thanked her friend, said her goodbyes and left.

The Lady of Rivendell wouldn't remember the scroll until she was safely back in Rivendell, in her room, and when she unrolled it she would find there just a few words, and even without any explanation, she would know what they meant:

"_Heart to thee... Body to thee... Soul to thee... Always and forever, so mote it be." _

They were vows, Tauriel's and Kili's vows; and one day they would be hers and Aragorn's too.

* * *

><p>I've always loved the pairing of Aragorn and Arwen; and like I said before, the parallels with the other pairings in this story, like Bilbo and Thorin, but most importantly Kili and Tauriel... I just couldn't help myself.<p>

The information concerning Bard's family was given as a way to continue my head-cannon, and to begin to build up for some things I've planned for future chapters. I hope you also liked the children! I loved writing them; and we'll be seeing them again, I promise you.

Next part: The life of Frodo Baggins is no easy thing, not only is he the nephew of the only hobbit to ever travel as far and wide as Erebor and Esgaroth... but he's also the youngest prince of Erebor... oh my!

P.S. Right now I have a strong idea of the pieces I will be doing to take this story forward as far as the end of the War of the Ring and the last ship West... if there's anything you would like to see let me know so I might try to fit it in while there's still time.


	6. The Road Home

Not sure if I've done this even once since I began this series, and it really should be obvious already; but just in case, here goes: I Don't Own Any Of This! There, done.

Familial connections are taken from the hobbit family tree that can be found in most LotR websites; same can be said about some of the details from the backstory. Any and all phrases in khuzdul come from the Dwarrow-scholar, elvish from the Parf Edhellen site (I try to be constant with the dialects, but sometimes they don't cooperate).

A couple of things from this fic were inspired by Home Behind and Home Ahead by Etharei (you can find the AO3 should go read it!)

Having said all that, we're beginning to get into LotR, not yet really, except for Frodo and other characters, but you know what I mean. I must warn you I'm playing fast and lose with cannon already. Just so you know (it should be obvious by this point, really).

* * *

><p><strong>The Road Home <strong>

Frodo Baggins was born a normal hobbit. The son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Baggins (nee Brandybuck), their only, much loved child. But he was never meant to stay a normal hobbit, even if no one knew that at first.

Bilbo had always been Frodo's favorite uncle (They were actually cousins, but due to the age difference, the two felt more comfortable treating their relationship as that of uncle-nephew). In fact, even before Frodo was born, Drogo had been Bilbo's favorite cousin. The only Baggins who did not ridicule or doubt him and the stories of his travels. The only hobbit who believed him completely, no matter what.

In fact, and while nothing was ever actually said out-loud, Bilbo was quite sure that Drogo at least suspected the true connection between his cousin and Thorin Oakenshield. It was in the way the younger cousin would look at the older whenever Bilbo said his goodbyes before leaving for several months, every year; and in the way Drogo's smile would quirk whenever Bilbo told all kind of stories about his time away, about his 'friend' Thorin.

Nothing was ever said openly though. It wasn't proper, among hobbits, for a hobbit to be in a relationship with another of the same gender. It would have been scandalous enough that his mate was a dwarf (he remembered the half-gossip, half-legends that were still told about the Took who had mated with an elf, and a handful Tooks and one Brandybuck who'd been known to marry tall-folk and move to Bree or other more distant realms); if one added to that the fact that Thorin was male... Bilbo would have been called much worse things than 'eccentric' and Mad Baggins. Which is why, as much as he hated the idea of hiding his marital status from everyone in the Shire; as much as he was not ashamed of his love for Thorin (and he dearly hoped his father would have understood... he was sure his mother certainly would have), he kept it a secret anyway. It was necessary.

Bilbo always knew that something was coming, something big, and he was meant to be a part of it. He knew not the details, nothing such had ever been revealed to him. All he and the others had to go on was the sole letter the Lady Eleana had left them with after presiding over his and Thorin's wedding ceremony, her blessing saving the dwarrow's life when he'd seemed to be beyond all hope. The later had revealed that Bilbo's Fate wasn't supposed to end with the Quest for Erebor, he was meant to do more, meant to be an important part in the formation of the one who would one day free Arda. It hadn't been hard for either of them to decide to make Bilbo's old Fate, their new Destiny; yet it hadn't been easy.

It was easy enough to realize that, had Thorin died in Ravenhill as had been originally predicted, Bilbo would have returned to the Shire. Which meant that the future savior of Middle-Earth would come from there (how else would the 'old Bilbo' have been a part of their life?). Which meant that, even free of Fate, Bilbo had to return to the Shire. Thorin couldn't follow him, he had to look after his kingdom, after those who'd believed in him, put their trust in him for so long; he couldn't let them down. So the pair split, much as they did not want to. Bilbo still traveled every year to Erebor, for the Winter season, spending from three to four months with his mate and the old company. While the others took turns visiting him in the Shire during Spring and Summer (the inhabitants of Hobbiton eventually grew used to having dwarves, elves and a few rangers dropping by once in a while. While Bilbo was famous enough for his work as 'Royal Burglar for Thorin's Company, and for being the Royal Consort of Erebor; his following trips had made him well acquainted with other fellow travelers, like some elves, dwarves and especially men, like the rangers of the north).

Then a year had come when a traveling ranger had warned Bilbo off his yearly trip across the Misty Mountains, as he'd heard that a landslide had blocked the mountain pass. Work had begun already to clear the way as soon as possible, but with winter fast approaching, it wouldn't be ready in time for it to be safe for Bilbo to attempt to cross. Thus the hobbit was forced to cancel his trip, instead just sending a letter to his mate with Rue (the young raven that acted as their personal messenger, one of few willing to fly all the way from the Lonely Mountain to the Shire relatively often).

The following year there was no block in the Misty Mountains, and yet Bilbo again had to cancel his trip, though for a very different reason: his favorite cousin, Drogo, and his wife Primula had just drowned. It wasn't odd for Brandybucks to like things related to water, like sailing (even if the rest of the hobbits considered them crazy for it). Some said it came from being descendants of the Stoorish Hobbits, who'd once lived in the banks of the Anduin and been known for building boats and fishing gear; though no one knew that for sure. Drogo loved his wife so much he could never tell her no, and so would go sailing with her (even when it was quite un-Baggins-like behavior... maybe a part of him saw it as a chance of being more like his favorite cousin).

It was a terrible accident (and it was an accident, no matter how much some of the crueler gossip-mongers in the Shire insisted on creating horrible stories about Drogo's weight sinking their boat, or Primula trying to kill her husband only to end up falling with him). However, as much as he grieved for the loss of his two cousins (Primula too had been related to him, the mothers of them both having been Took, and sisters too), Bilbo focused more on their twelve-year-old son, left an orphan after the tragic loss.

He loved Frodo, and how could he not? The fauntling was simply adorable (at times too much for his own good). One of the first facts of life Bilbo had acknowledged and accepted after falling in love with his dwarf was that he would never have children. It's not like he'd had that many prospects before, or any interest in settling down; but perhaps a corner of his mind had wondered once or twice about the possibility of marrying a nice lass and having children with her. It had never been a specific idea, or dream, all very vague even in his own mind. Bilbo would even say it was never the idea of having a wife even, but a family as a whole. Thorin and the Company had become that family by the end of their quest. Thorin loved Kili like a son, a love the younger dwarf returned just as strongly; and it wasn't hard at all for Bilbo to find his place there as well, right along with Kili's own mother, Thorin's sister Dís (which also meant Tauriel was daughter-in-law for them all).

And yet Kili was already grown, an adult (regardless how much of an effort he made sometimes to seem otherwise). Frodo, on the other hand, was a child, not even a tween yet. Bilbo loved children, loved the way they could be so happy, the way they gifted their smiles to everyone, with little care about limitations adults might put on themselves. He loved how the fauntlings never cared about his own oddities, eccentricities, they were always eager for another story of his adventures, loved hearing about the trolls who tried to eat the company only to end up turned to stone, the giant eagles who'd saved dwarves, hobbit and wizard from goblins and fire, about the man who turned into a bear, the elves, the men that lived over a lake; about the fight against orcs, and wargs, and a huge golden dragon...

Frodo in particular was a fierce believer of the stories (even before getting any actual proof). He knew all of his uncle Bilbo's stories by heart, and was sure there were some that his uncle had shared with no one else: like the seemingly endless competition between Nori and Dwalin to see how long it took the former warrior and head of the Royal Guard of Erebor, to catch the once-thief and spy-master in the act (nevermind that all Nori stole anymore were Dwalin's own trinkets and beard-beads, with the purpose of irking him... and to keep calling the older dwarf's attention); or Kili's reaction when his firstborn, his daughter, was first placed in his arms, all pale skin and the light of the stars in her eyes (she had taken more after her mother than her father, which only seemed to fascinate the prince under the mountain all the more); that Ori had fainted from sheer nervousness before he was to meet with his beloved's father to ask for her hand in marriage (considering the girl in question had been Tilda, and her father King Bard Blackarrow, the Dragon-Slayer and King of Dale, there probably was reason enough for him to have been nervous); or the way Thorin Oakenshield's eyes had filled with tears when his nephew and heir placed his second-born child (a Durin-blue eyed baby with a mop of light-auburn hair with the slightest hint of blonde) in the King's arms, explaining the baby's name was Fili, and would one day be his own heir...

Frodo knew his uncle Bilbo was special. He often visited Bag End, and had had the chance to be present sometimes when visitors came knocking (all but the dwarves, they never knocked, just letting themselves in, which should and would have been rude at any other hobbit's home, except there, for Bilbo didn't seem to mind at all). The fauntling had seen more than once the way the visitors looked at his uncle, the friendship, the respect... it was quite obvious for the child that his uncle was someone special, someone who'd done great things (regardless of what some hobbits, like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, might think).

There were a lot of things that no one in the Shire knew. They didn't know that Bilbo Baggins was the Hero of Erebor and all of Rhovanion for his actions in relation to the dwarrows' quest, Smaug and the Battle of Five Armies; they didn't know that he was married to the King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield and hailed as Royal Consort by all the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain; he had been named Elf-Friend by the inhabitants of both Mirkwood and Rivendell; and even the people from Bree and the Rangers knew of him and his travels and respected him. In a somewhat lesser scale (for all except the actual hobbits) they didn't know either just how close Bilbo had been to Frodo and his parents before the last two had passed. They didn't know how Bilbo would always have dinner with them the night before leaving for any journey, leaving with Drogo a signed letter that would make him owner of Bag-End should Bilbo ever not return; they did not know that Drogo, Primula and Frodo always had dinner with Bilbo the night after he returned, sharing in some of the exotic wares the older hobbit would buy outside the Shire; they didn't know that Frodo had learnt to read and write at his uncle's knee, the boy's calligraphy was better than that of many, and he was beginning to learn some basic elvish at his own insistence. But most importantly, no one but the Master of Buckland, his daughter (Primula's older sister) Amaranth and Bilbo himself knew that Drogo and Primula had signed a letter stating that should they die before their son reached his majority, he would be taken in by Bilbo.

It had been more than twenty years since Bilbo had given up on ever having a child he could truly count his own (Kili didn't really count); and then Drogo and Primula died unexpectedly and he was left with a boy who already looked so much up to him. Bilbo never told Frodo to call him Da', he would never try to take Drogo's place in the youngling's heart; but he could still feel it in his heart, the way it filled at the addition of the young one to his immediate family. He would never be happy his cousins had died; yet he would always be grateful for the chance to have Frodo, such a bright child, in his life.

And so, by the time Frodo's thirteen birthday (the beginning of his tween years) came along, the lad was about ready to move into Bag End. All paperwork had been done, all arrangements made, he would be Bilbo's nephew officially, as well as his heir (something that did not make Lobelia very happy, after so many years she'd been hopeful that upon Bilbo's eventual passing her family would finally get Bag-End). Only one thing needed to be done, before it was all finalized, though Frodo was not aware of it.

Frodo Baggins met Thorin Oakenshield late one evening two days before his thirteenth birthday. He'd heard the rumors that a dwarf had been seen on Bag-Shot road (again), though the most important part of the gossip was it was one that apparently had never visited before, it was that which had intrigued Frodo most. He had already begun to spend night in Bag End, though they wouldn't be announcing the adoption until his birthday. So when time came for supper he simply went to what he already saw as his home, wondering if his uncle's guest would still be around (there were some who never stayed more than a few hours, while others would spend as long as a month visiting).

As it turned out, the visitor was still there. Frodo, young as he might still be, was very observant and quite clever, and noticed a number of things right away; like the fact that his uncle wasn't in his favorite armchair, instead he'd taken a place beside the visitor (they were particularly close); also, his uncle's hair had always been long for a male hobbit (it reached his shoulders, and a few locks behind his ears were several inches longer even), but what was new were the plaits in his uncle's hair, carefully elaborated, adorning them were beautiful (if odd to a hobbit) beads carved from gems. Also, Frodo knew who the dwarf was, even if he'd never seen him before; he'd heard his uncle's stories enough times.

"Uncle Bilbo..." The fauntling hesitated for a second, before bowing respectfully at the dwarrow. "Your Majesty..."

"Sharp as a blade." The dwarf nodded with a hint of a smile. "Your uncle has told me a lot about you, young one. I am Thorin, son of Thráin, King of Erebor, at your service."

"Frodo, son of Drogo, at yours." The child replied promptly.

For several seconds not a word was said, and finally it was Bilbo who did.

"Frodo my boy, take a seat please." He said, nervousness leaking into his voice. "There are some things we need to talk to you about."

We... Frodo's eyes widened fractionally at the use of the word. It reminded him of every time one of his parents had used a similar phrase. And maybe it was because he was so young still, or he simply was open-minded (especially for a hobbit), because the idea of his uncle Bilbo and the dwarrow King being 'we' in the same manner his parents had been, didn't cause any negative reaction in the youngling.

"As you know in the last few months I've been making all preparations to adopt you, make you my heir." Bilbo began explaining, still nervous. "As far as traditions and protocols from the Shire go, everything's in order already, however... my adoption of you has another layer, one that has nothing to with the Shire, yet everything to do with you, of course."

"Uncle?" Frodo knew that, when nervous, his uncle tended to babble, and to deviate from topic, yet in that moment that was making the fauntling nervous as well.

"Easy lakhdûn..." The dwarrow king laid a hand over the older hobbit's one, as if to calm him down. "Everything is alright. Just explain things to young Frodo."

"Frodo, my boy..." Bilbo took a deep breath before finally explaining himself. "You have heard the stories of my travels more than anyone else, even your parents. You even know there are some stories that I've shared with you, that I haven't told anyone else."

Frodo nodded, he knew that, just like he also knew here was yet more stories his uncle had never shared with anyone, not even him.

"You obviously realize there are other stories I've never told." Bilbo said softly. "But there is one in particular I would like to share with you now. Or rather than a new story, a new level to one you already know, if you would listen."

"You know I love listening to your stories, uncle." Frodo said, getting himself comfortable, he had a feeling the story to come would be good.

The story was mostly the same one Frodo already knew by heart. Except there were some details, which had never been talked about before: late-night talks in Rivendell... the lack of second (or first) thought on the part of a certain dwarf when seeing the hobbit about to fall to his death during the thunder battle, and jumping to save him... the badly hidden grief at the thought of him dying in the goblin-town, disguised by accusations of the hobbit choosing to abandon them instead; one hobbit's terror at the thought of a certain dwarf being decapitated, followed by said dwarf's own when seeing the mentioned hobbit stand against the most vicious killer either of them had ever known... the relief of both when seeing each other, safe sound on the Carrock; the warmth in a shared embrace... the growing friendship, overlaying a budding romance... the confusion of finding the hobbit missing in Mirkwood, along with the growing hope that somehow he might prove to be their trump card, again (and he had)... the pride Thorin, and every dwarf had felt at first finding the secret way into the mountain, and then the keyhole (Bilbo was the only one who never gave up)... the fear each of them had for the other as they fought against Smaug... the delight at the retaking of Erebor...

It had been Bilbo's intention to make little mention (or preferably no mention at all) of gold-sickness; however, Thorin refused to cooperate on that front. He himself told the fauntling all about it, all he'd done, to Bilbo even. Which made Frodo go from fascinated at the totally new dimensions the story took with all those details added; to horror at how much that horrible illness had twisted everything. When they reached the part about Thorin attempting to throw Bilbo from the ramparts the young hobbit nearly had a heart-attack.

"But..." Frodo was talking before he was fully conscious of it. "But you're here, both of you!"

"Thorin is entirely too hard on himself." Bilbo said softly.

"And you're entirely too forgiving." Thorin deadpanned. "If it had been anyone else I would still be grovelling; and most would never forgive me anyway."

"It's been almost 24 years Thorin..." Bilbo called in exasperation. "It's about time you let it go."

"I'll never forget all the ways I've wronged you." Thorin murmured, briefly pressing his forehead to Bilbo's shoulder. "There is not a day I don't thank Mahal for having you in my life, marlel (love of all loves)."

Bilbo did not answer verbally, instead pressing his own forehead into Thorin's shoulder briefly, an intimate gesture if Frodo had ever seen one.

"Uncle Bilbo..." The boy called, he still wanted to understand, felt he needed to.

And so the story went on. Bilbo's exile from the mountain, and his refusal to leave the place entirely, the Battle of the Five Armies and Ravenhill... if there had ever been a part of the story that was hardly explained, it was what had happened on that hilltop, until that moment. It was on that day that the full story was finally told (to anyone outside the Company and direct kin). Frodo learnt how Fili had been killed by the Pale Orc, how his brother Kili almost followed, and would have if not for the Lady Tauriel (who later went on to become his mate); he learnt of Thorin's own vicious battle against Azog, the blade that went into his chest, the moment he was to die, and would have, hadn't it been for the Lady Eleana... and then Frodo learnt of the vows that both his uncle and the dwarrow king had pronounced, and which had bound them from that moment and would continue to do so to the end of time...

"So..." The youngling fought to wrap his head around what he'd just been told. "The two of you are... married, then."

"We're bonded, married, yes." Thorin nodded with a small smile.

"But, uncle!" Frodo was shocked. "Everyone in the Shire says you live alone, they say you're a bachelor, and I've always seen you alone."

"Thorin's and my marriage isn't legal in the Shire, Frodo." Bilbo explained softly. "You know that hobbits in general do not take kindly to such unions between two males, or two females for that matter." Nevermind that such things still happened, sometimes, away from the judging eyes of most. "They also tend not to be too accepting of those who take spouses from outside our Shire, and our people. Comes from being so isolated, I suppose." He shook his head. "In any case, our union is not legal in the Shire, though well known and accepted in Erebor, as well as widely recognized in Esgaroth and most places on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and some on this side too." He took a deep breath. "And that's the crux of the matter. Because while it makes no difference here in the Shire, it is important out there. All races take matters of adoption and the naming of heirs very seriously. When I became Thorin's spouse, Kili became my nephew as well, his sister Dís became mine. In the same manner, you would become Thorin's nephew and... and you would effectively become part of the Line of Succession for the Throne of Erebor."

Frodo, who had been growing increasingly excited at the thought of gaining even more family (he had lots of cousins already, especially Brandybucks and Tooks, on his mother's side); and then when the last detail came, all he could do was sit there in shock. Part of the Line of Succession for the Throne of Erebor?! He might be a child, but he knew what that meant. Uncle Bilbo was saying he would be royal, a prince, and possibly even heir to a throne! Him? Heir to a throne?! But that was absolutely insane, he was just a hobbit!

Abruptly, he realized something: he was indeed, a hobbit, and so was his uncle Bilbo. And he was married to a Dwarven King! Wouldn't that make him...

"It's unlikely it will ever come to that." Thorin stated, probably trying not to make Frodo too nervous. "Even with the... the passing of Fili, years ago. Kili is to inherit the throne when I can no longer be King, and he's named his son: Fili II as his heir. If the worst were to happen and the brat were still too young to inherit when it became necessary there are a number of others who could act as Regents for a while: like my sister Dís, Kili's mate Tauriel, their daughter Stiarna, my cousin Balin, and, of course, Bilbo."

"But... but... we're hobbits!" The boy finally cried out in shock.

"Indeed you are." Thorin nodded. "And as far as almost everyone in the eastern side of the Misty Mountains are concerned, hobbits are the most wondrous creatures in Arda. After everything Bilbo has done, for the Company and for Erebor... my people love him! And they will love you too Frodo, if you give them a chance."

It hadn't always been like that, of course. Bilbo could still remember the long days and even longer nights that first winter. The doubts from everyone, especially some of the dwarves that had arrived to the Lonely Mountain with Dain Ironfoot. The way they'd looked down upon not just Bilbo (for being so small and so seemingly soft), but on Tauriel, for being a she-elf. And then the lady had taken to throwing knives (at first what few she still had, and later on a collection Dís had made for her, just for that purpose). Bilbo had been less violent, though no less efficient, using words and Sting when absolutely necessary (in his case, having stood and practically challenged the Lord of Iron Hills had apparently had a serious effect on everyone else).

"I hope I'm not scaring you away, young one." Thorin added in a low, heartfelt tone. "Bilbo cares greatly about you. He's spoken of nothing but you in months... I know he loves the idea of you being part of his family and... and I would love that too."

It was like a switch had suddenly flipped inside the young hobbit's head, priorities shifting around in an instant. The focus was no longer the throne, the line of succession or anything like that; it was the other thing that was being offered to him: a family. He'd had one, of course, Frodo knew his parents had loved him very much. And there were all his cousins, he'd spent a lot of time with them, living in Brandy Hall and all... but it just wasn't the same. There were so many children in there that the adults couldn't really pay much attention to any of them. After his recent tragedy, he just didn't feel like being around most fauntlings (with their mothers always around, in the way his couldn't be); and he was at an age where he was too young for the hobbit-tweens to want him hanging out with them, thinking him not to be old enough yet. He knew Old Rorimac worried about him, but the hobbit was the patriarch of a clan and couldn't be always focused on one sole hobbitling, no matter who he might be, or what might have happened to him. It was why Frodo had been so delighted at the prospect of being adopted by Bilbo (that and, Bilbo was his favorite uncle, of course); and from what he was saying, he would be getting more than just one uncle out of the deal...

"Does that mean I can call you Uncle Thorin?" Frodo blurted out the moment that fact registered in his head.

The smile that lit up the dwarven king's face was answer enough, though he did reassure the young hobbit verbally anyway.

The reaction from Frodo was immediate. He'd been doing his best to show the best manners he could throughout the whole meeting, wanting to show his uncle's guest that he was a good boy. Except the dwarf was no longer a guest, he was family. With that thought Frodo immediately jumped off the armchair he was on and rushed straight to Thorin, hugging him as tightly as his small arms allowed.

"Uncles!" He cried out excitedly, holding onto Thorin with one hand, and extending the other to blindly grab at Bilbo.

Indeed, he had uncles, not one but two... even if only he knew that part.

**xXx**

It wasn't easy for Frodo, young as he was; to know so much, about his uncle, about the world, and not be able to share it with anyone. To hear some of the more unsavory individuals (like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins) mouthing off Bilbo behind his back, insulting him for his tastes in foreign wares, his bachelorhood, his eccentricities... it made the tween angry. What did they know? What right had anyone to insult his uncle when he was nothing but kind to them all? He was a warrior, a hero, a King's consort!

But Frodo understood that he was fortunate to know the things he did, and they couldn't be shared with anyone outside of their tight little group. At least when someone from the Company visited he knew he could talk to them. The other visitors, elves and a few rangers, began talking to him as well; and when they learnt Frodo was aware of everything concerning his uncle, their respect for him seemed to grow, and they began treating him more as an adult than a child.

"I don't understand..." He admitted one day to one of the guests. "The first times I saw any of you visiting my uncle, you would mostly ignore me, and now..."

"Before you were a child, one who knew very little of the truth, of the world that exists outside your Shire, a world your uncle Bilbo is tightly connected to." The elf, Elladan from Rivendel, told him one day. "But now... now you know, and you're clever enough to be able to accept it, to deal with it rather than deny it all or take offense to it."

Frodo knew instantly what detail the elf spoke of.

"I don't see what's so wrong with it." He admitted with a light shrug. "Love is love in the end, right? What does it matter who you love, when its real?"

"If more people thought the way you did, the world would be a better place." Elladan stated with an almost wistful expression.

"It's not easy for most people to see things like that, vinyamo (youngster)." Elrohir, Elladan's twin added. "Not only when it comes to two individuals of the same gender, but two different species."

"But Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin are together, and Uncle Bilbo isn't a dwarf." Frodo pointed out in honest confusion. "And they say that Cousin Kili's wife, Miss Tauriel, is a she-elf, and they're married too, and have kids. And Mr. Ori, from the Company, he's married to a princess of men in Dale and..."

"And one would think that everyone in Rhovanion has gone mad." Elrohir deadpanned.

Elladan shot a glare at his twin, there he was trying to convince Frodo that it was alright, and his brother had to go and say something like that. Then again, he had to agree it wasn't exactly what they would consider 'normal' for there to be so much intermarrying between species. And while three hardly seem like a big number, the fact that all three unions had happened in a lapse of five years... well, it was unlikely they would be the last. And then there was his sister...

The twins knew that Arwen had been to Erebor, how could they not? They'd seen her receiving letters every so often from Lady Tauriel; and while they did not know what was said between the two females, the fact that not even the harshest disapproving words from their Adar were enough to dissuade their sister from pursuing a relationship with Estel (Aragorn, they had to remember he was Aragorn now), was telling.

The twins had to admit that when they visited Erebor all those years ago, when they stood in for the lone she-elf's family in her marriage to the dwarf-prince (which they couldn't help but find beyond insane, even if neither of them said a word about it), they could have never expected it would have repercussions on such a scale. But truly, what else could have created such a strong, quick friendship between Arwen and Tauriel if not their love for mortal males?

"So, it's not normal then?" The youngling asked, hesitant.

"It's not wrong." Elladan hurried to reassure him as best he could. "It's like you yourself said, love is love in the end, it's just..." He didn't know how to explain it.

"Some people have lived with certain ideas of how things should be for so long they just cannot imagine things being different." Elrohir finally explained. "It doesn't mean they're right or wrong, they're just used to things being different."

Frodo nodded, he didn't fully understand, not yet; but he was still learning, maybe one day he would see what was truly going on.

**xXx**

The first time Frodo left the Shire was right after his 23rd birthday. He didn't go alone, or far, only to Bree, for a week or so, where they met with a number of dwarves and rangers. The following ten years Bilbo would take Frodo on short trip like that every three or four months, never trips that may take more than a week of travel, never staying more than two fortnights away at most. The trips weren't only to Bree either, for variety they would sometimes visit other (distant) parts of the Shire, small towns of men, and a couple of times they even went to the Blue Mountains (the remains of the colony the Durins had once created there knew well who Bilbo Baggins was and were delighted to receive him and his nephew).

Once, right before the end of his tween years, the pair had even gone to Rivendell, where they were warmly received by Lord Elrond and his sons.

And yet, no trip was as anticipated as the one that followed Frodo's 33rd birthday (and his coming of age); it was the first time the young hobbit visited Erebor. The trip was long, as could be expected when traveling with one who'd never crossed mountains, or a forest as dark as Mirkwood; but a number of dwarves had met the pair in Bree, and all together they went, endless stories about previous journeys, and especially the quest, flowing easily.

It was upon their arrival to the Lonely Mountain itself, upon witnessing the reception his uncle Bilbo got, that Frodo finally began to realize how well-loved his uncle was. He'd been seeing the hidden depths of the older hobbit for years. In ways as simple as the differences his step had; from the leisurely gait he used in Hobbiton (same as most hobbits), to the purposeful, sure steps he took when traveling (each step measured, never wasting any effort, never missing a step); the sword always on his hip, the alertness in his gaze (his uncle didn't miss anything, no matter how minor it might seem to Frodo).

It was quite shocking when the pair passed by Dale, with humans bowing their heads respectfully as they passed, the whispers Frodo could hear, words like 'Royal Consort', 'the King's Spouse', though the most shocking were the words he heard from the mouth of the woman who'd met them in the plaza.

"Frodo my boy, this is princess Tilda." Bilbo had introduced the beautiful woman.

"Frodo, son of Drogo, at your service, my lady." The youngling promptly introduced himself.

"Tilda, daughter of Bard Blackarrow, King of Dale, at yours." She introduced herself with a smile; only to then turn her eyes onto his uncle. "It's good to see you back, Master Hobbit. You've been greatly missed around here." Her smile turned mischievous. "I'm quite sure his Majesty, the King Under the Mountain, will be greatly pleased..."

"Tilda!" Bilbo cried out, blushing profusely.

"Must you embarrass our Master Bulgar so, mesmel (jewel of jewels)?" A male voice called.

The princess didn't ask, just smiled at the male approaching. He was shorter than her (though she was a bit on the short side, for a human); it took Frodo a second to realize he wasn't really a man, but a dwarf.

"Ori, from the Brothers Ri, at your service." The dwarf proceeded to introduce himself. "And this beautiful treasure is my wife, whose name I believe you already know."

Frodo half-absently proceeded to introduce himself, even as a part of his mind tried to process that not only was he meeting a princess, but also one of the dwarves from the Company he'd never seen before, her husband...

"We should get going." Bilbo said then. "Frodo and I must still get to the mountain."

"Of course." Tilda nodded. "I'm happy you've finally returned, Master Bilbo. Hopefully you'll agree to sharing dinner with my family at your convenience."

"I'll see what I can do, my lady." Bilbo nodded with a smile.

"As long as Thorin doesn't lock him in his chambers the moment he arrives." Ori quipped with a wide smirk.

"Ori!" Frodo's uncle cried out, embarrassed all over again.

Frodo threw a dirty look at the dwarf. He'd known his uncle (both uncles) were married and everything... he did not need that mental image!

"You hadn't told me you knew the royals of Dale." Frodo commented, intrigued, a few minutes later, as he and his uncle guided their ponies to the mountain.

"Remember what I told you about Bard Dragon-Slayer?" Bilbo asked in turn.

"The bowman who shot down the dragon Smaug in Laketown." Frodo nodded.

"I believe I mentioned at one point that he never liked that name, instead he chose to take Blackarrow as the name of his line." Bilbo went on. "I also believe I mentioned he turned out to be a descendant of the last Lord of Dale. A position he took, becoming the first King of Dale once it was rebuilt. I wasn't around for his coronation, but still." He made a pause before adding. "I, all of the Company, we met him and his children during the Quest. Bard was of great assistance to us all. His eldest is now Prince Báin, heir to the throne; his first daughter passed away a bit over twenty years ago, Tilda is his youngest. When we first met her she was a little thing, barely eleven years old and quite small... She was also very curious and caring." He shook his head. "It was odd at first, you know? She grew up so fast compared to hobbits. Married at sixteen!" He chuckled. "Though I think that was a scandal even among the humans."

It had been indeed, though in the end her father and brother had relented, allowing the match. It probably helped that they had known Ori for years and knew for sure he wasn't one to play with Tilda's feelings (unlike what had happened with a few of Sigrid's suitors, before she grew to love Dathon). Tilda's explanation for wanting to marry so young had also been quite sound:

"_I am only human, even if I'm one of the lucky ones, my life will never be as long as theirs." She had said. "But I love him, and he loves me, and I want to be with him for as long as I might be able to. I want us to have as many years together as Éru might allow us." _

They had waited to have children, a number of healers suggesting that Tilda was too young, and after the malnutrition she'd suffered as a child a pregnancy (any pregnancy) would be hard on her body, it was better if she waited until she was fully grown and as strong as she could be. It had still been a hard pregnancy, all three times. But still she gave her husband two daughters and one son; all of whom were well-loved by the family and both of their peoples.

Frodo's pondering was interrupted, rather loudly, by the sound of horns, which began the moment they came into sight of the gates of Erebor.

The news that the Royal Consort had returned after 22 years spread quickly, reaching every corner of the mountain in minutes. By the time the two hobbits were crossing the gates on their ponies what looked like half the population of Erebor had gathered to welcome them.

"Uncle Bilbo...?" Frodo asked, quietly, feeling a bit intimidated by the sheer number of people, dwarves, gathered around them.

His uncle didn't say anything, just shook his head fondly before dismounting; he was about to go and help his nephew, but before he could give a single step a body was blocking his way, right in front of him, a forehead pressed against his own (Dwarves were very private individuals, kisses were only shared by couples in intimate settings or, at most, when with close family).

"Thorin..." Bilbo breathed out, knowing who it was even before their eyes met.

"Lukhdel (light of all lights)..." Thorin replied, a hand moving to grip the nape of his consort's neck in a gesture that was meant to comfort himself as much as his hobbit. "It's been so long. I've missed you, more than I've ever missed anything, even the Lonely Mountain."

"My silly dwarf..." Bilbo replied tenderly. "I'm here now. And I'll be visiting again, we both will. We will never go so long without seeing each other again, I promise you."

"That's a promise I'll hold you to, my burglar." Thorin stated.

By the time they moved again, Kili had already helped Frodo down from his pony. Orders had been given for the two hobbit's belongings to be moved to their rooms in the royal wing. However, no one had moved just yet. Many eyes were on the younger hobbit, wanting to know who he was (though Bilbo had no doubt that the gossip had made it so everyone already knew, they were just waiting for it to be made official).

"Frodo, come here." Bilbo called quietly, knowing what needed to be done.

Feeling a bit shy all of a sudden, the barely off-age hobbit approached his uncles, Kili, Tauriel and their own children staying close (just in case).

"People of Erebor!" Thorin called in a strong voice, raising the hand he'd entwined with Bilbo's. "This is a day to celebrate. For our burglar is back!"

It was a running joke, really, for Bilbo to be called, 'Royal Burglar', in memory of the contract and the quest that had been the start of everything. Yet the cheer that rose from every corner of the mountain's entrance told enough just how much the dwarves loved their Royal Consort.

"I know much has been said in the last twenty years, and especially the last few months." Thorin went on, placing a hand on Frodo. "So I will make it official now: this is Frodo Baggins, from the Shire, and from this day on, from Erebor too. Welcome the new Prince of the Lonely Mountain!"

The cheering was just as deafening, Frodo could scarcely believe it.

And that was just the beginning of it, of the life of Frodo Baggins, nephew of Bilbo and Thorin, youngest Prince Under the Mountain.

* * *

><p>So, what do you think of my minor pairings?<p>

I actually briefly considered a different dwarf for Tilda, Bofur to be precise (they met when Kili was hurt...), and then I read the names of the actors, and realized that the girls that play Sigrid and Tilda are actually the daughters of the actor who plays Bofur (surname is Nebbit, I think, cannot remember the names right now). I also considered Nori (since so many people seem to like Dwalin/Ori, but there was something about Dwalin/Nori, that called to me; and Ori is so cute... and I could see him with Tilda, so yeah. They're not too important in the grand scheme of things, but still, I like them.

This was the last chapter before we truly dive into LotR, I will tell you one things now: most of the War of the Ring, the Quest and everything connected to it will actually remain canon; mainly because I really do not want to rewrite all of it, I probably could have created something, but I don't really want to (and it would take so much time, which I don't have , I have other things I need to write already). If something changes, I'll bring it up; anything that isn't mentioned, it's because it remained exactly the same.

Next chapter: What happens when a man grows up believing he knows everything about the world, about his world... and then arrives to a place like Rivendell to find hobbits are real, two of them are called royalty by dwarves, a she-elf is queen in a dwarven realm, and there is still someone who could claim the throne of Gondor? Find out next chapter, as Boromir has a lot to learn... and he just might.

P.S. Remember, if you have suggestions or requests, you better hurry and make them before I finish writing this, we're past the halfway mark already.


	7. Legacy

I'm warning you all from this moment that some of the characters will seem more than a little OOC. Consider the universe that has been created from the moment Gift of the Stars took place and I think you'll be able to understand why things are the way they are.

I won't be going deep into the Lord of the Rings, neither the books nor the movies. Mostly this will follow movie cannon, except for a number of specific details that will be mentioned when the time comes.

Please don't read the end notes until you've finished reading the chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Legacy <strong>

"_I will take the Ring to Mordor." _

A month had passed since those fateful words had been pronounced by the child-looking creature, the halfling, as legends of Gondor called them. The Steward-Prince of Gondor still believed it was absolute insanity for anyone to believe the little one would ever be able to do something like take the Ring all the way to Mount Doom, especially with the Dark Lord's minions shadowing him, as they were.

But the Gondorian had made up his mind. It would be a few weeks yet at least before the group, named 'Fellowship of the Ring', by the lord of Imladris, Elrond, was to depart. For whatever the reason they insisted on waiting for some messenger from the Lonely Mountain to return with a special delivery. Boromir thought they should instead be taking advantage of the time and move out as soon as possible, but he wasn't the leader of the company; and for whatever the reason half of it had agreed on waiting.

He planned on using that time to convince at least the reasonable (or so he hoped) elven and possibly dwarven members of the Fellowship that the halflings needed to be left behind, they were likely to become a liability, and they had no time for such things on a quest such as theirs. He even had the perfect opportunity, as they were to gather in that moment, looking to help said halflings learn some self-defense. Boromir was sure that once the others realized how defenseless the small creatures were, everyone would agree with him it was better to leave them behind. He could have never expected how that 'training session' went in the end.

At first things seemed to be going as expected. Sam Gamgee, the self-named gardener of 'Mr. Frodo', was no good with any weapon they tried to offer him. He could defend himself pretty decently, but was no good at attacking, he simply seemed to have no instincts for it.

Merry and Pippin, the two youngest, were pretty atrocious, though their persistence and good cheer as they kept trying, no matter how many times they were thrown down, were certainly to be commended. And they were not afraid of fighting dirty when losing the small blades the Ranger had gotten them (Boromir refused to refer to that man as his prince, or any kind of royal, even inside his mind).

A couple of hours later the Gondorian would admit to being surprised by how long the hobbits had kept at it, even after being hit and thrown enough times that they were probably black and blue beneath their simple clothes. Though as much as he might admire their tenacity, none of that changed Boromir's mind about what he believed needed to be done.

"What about our Ring-bearer?" He asked.

Merry and Pippin finally looked like they wouldn't be getting up again; Sam had shown no interest in keeping at it. Yet it was the last hobbit that had shown no ability thus far.

"What?" Everyone seemed surprised by Boromir's words.

"He's the one who carries the greatest burden, the true burden." The Man stated rather bluntly. "Shouldn't we make sure he's capable of defending himself, and what he carries?"

For a second there was nothing but silence, and then the excuses started.

"I really don't think that's a good idea." Legolas murmured quietly.

"Mr. Frodo cannot fight right now!" Sam called loudly.

"We are about to embark in the most dangerous of journeys." Boromir declared. "We need to make sure everyone involved in this can fight."

"I agree it's a good precaution to take." Aragorn murmured hesitantly. "However, circumstances being what they are right now..."

"It's alright Strider." Frodo interrupted softly. "I knew this was coming."

"You really don't need to do this, lad." Gimli began.

"But I think I do, Gimli." The halfling replied with a half smile. "Lord Boromir is in his right to want to make sure we all won't be liabilities. He's risking his life to help me, and I respect that." His expression turned somewhat wistful. "It's like what Uncle Bilbo said happened when the delegation of Stiffbeards stayed in Erebor, remember?"

"I don't need to remember any stories, lad." Gimli said with a huff. "I was right there for that one. Can still remember how close that came to becoming a Clan War, and it would have, weren't it for our dear Royal Consort... Those Stiffbeards." He cursed under his breath in khuzdul. "But I understand your point. I don't agree with it, and am quite sure your uncles wouldn't either, but if that is your choice."

"It is." Frodo nodded serenely.

Boromir could only watch the conversation in silence. There was something odd about that conversation, the way the dwarf seemed to defer to the halfling's authority. And the way they spoke about the uncle... how would a dwarf know him? Just what was going on?

"Will you be testing me then?" Frodo asked as he got on his feet.

He reached for his belt, for a weapon, only there was none.

"Oh..." He breathed. "I'd forgotten. I lost my knife at Weathertop."

Boromir cursed under his breath, and that was the hope for Middle-Earth? A child-like creature who lost his knife and then forgot about it? The Gondorian would bet the halfling had found it uncomfortable when sleeping, took it off and then forgot about it...

"Here lad." Gimli pulled a dagger (short for a man, but a bit long for the halfling). "You may use this until we get you something better."

That was when the Gondorian got his first surprise (or the first he would admit to), as he watched the halfling take the offered blade, unsheathe it slowly, careful not to let the edge press too much into the scabbard, like one who knew such actions may blunt it on the long run. Then he raised the blade, balancing it on his right hand, swung it a couple of times, testing its weight and balance like an experienced fighter. It was the first time Boromir doubted his own assessment of a situation or a person.

"This will work." Frodo declared after a minute of careful tests, returning the dagger to its sheathe and tying it to his belt. "Thank you, buhel (friend of all friends)."

Boromir heard the dwarf reply under his breath in a language he couldn't understand, but didn't pay it much attention. Though maybe he should have; then he would have noticed that Frodo needed no explanation of what had been said, for he knew khuzdul, it was one of the languages he was fluent in (along with Sindarin, Iglishmek, and of course Westron). If he'd paid attention to that maybe he would have realized Frodo was no common hobbit.

Aragorn let out a breath, he could see that Boromir was pushing Frodo, but the Steward-prince just had no idea of the can of worms he'd just opened. Aragorn himself wouldn't know if it were not for people like Arwen and his cousin Halbarad. Also, the name Baggins had been a dead give-away once it was given; practically everyone on the other side of the Misty Mountains knew who Bilbo Baggins was, the Royal Burglar, Consort to the King Under the Mountain; and a great many knew Frodo Baggins, Prince of Erebor (nevermind that the hobbit spent more time in the Shire than in the Lonely Mountain), as well. Still, he worried, it was one thing to know the hobbit had been raised, at least partially, by dwarves, but that was no guarantee of anything.

Gimli's smile was almost predatory. He, unlike Aragorn, had known Frodo since the hobbit was but a fauntling (his first long, solo travel, once he finally became off-age, had been to the Shire; and after Frodo had been adopted by Bilbo the red-haired dwarf greatly enjoyed spending time with the fauntling).

Legolas had not known the hobbit personally, he'd hardly returned to Mirkwood since the Battle of Five Armies, after which he'd spent several seasons in Rivendell, recovering from the mess his feelings had become in the aftermath of such a debacle. Eventually he'd met Strider, just like his father had intended, and chose to join his men. They'd been good friends since. Still, the elven prince had known Bilbo well-enough, and if the hobbit whose songs had been sung in Rhovanion for the last sixty years had been the one to raise Frodo, there was no doubt the hobbit would be something special as well. Especially if he added to his considerations the looks their red-haired dwarven companion kept giving the hobbit, and the other details that made it obvious the two knew each other, and quite well.

Finally, the three remaining hobbits didn't say a word, though it was obvious in their eyes that they were quite eager for what was coming. Something Boromir noticed as well. Though he chose to chalk it up simply as halflings looking up to the oldest of their group and wanting to cheer for him. He could have never imagined the truth... (and while mostly the things that were said about Baggins uncle and nephew around Hobbiton weren't the nicest, Merry and Pippin were Brandybuck and Took respectively, and so quite odd for hobbits themselves; and where it came to Gamgees, the Baggins of Bag-End could do no wrong in their eyes).

Not a word was said by anyone, as Frodo went to stand before the Gondorian, exactly where his hobbit friends had been before. Once in place Frodo unsheathed the dagger again, holding it in a careful basic grip, crossed before his chest. It was a simple stance, but Boromir didn't pay it much attention (in his head, the halfling could simply be copying it after seeing the men teach all his friends the last several hours). And then the fight began.

The spar was like none Boromir had ever been involved in. He'd begun with a downwards slash in the direction of the hobbit's left shoulder. His intention was to test his reflexes and his block, though he was making it easy (or so he thought). And yet, rather than raising his sword to block the strike, Frodo had taken a step to the right and bend backwards a bit, just enough for the man's blade to go down beside him.

And that was just the start. While there were some strikes that Frodo definitely had to block, mostly he kept sidestepping them, and the Gondorian when possible. The more he did it, the more angry the man got. Still, Frodo was agile, and had quick feet, so it wasn't too hard for him to keep up. There were a handful of near-misses, a couple of scratches to a leg and an arm, though nowhere near enough to make either of them stop; at least not until Boromir finally lost it.

"Fight me!" He demanded.

"Why?" He wasn't expecting the halfling's question.

"What do you mean why?" The Steward-prince snarled. "This is meant to test your ability to fight, not to dance."

There were several snickers, but Frodo himself just smiled.

"Not really." Frodo shook his head, still dodging strikes. "You yourself said you wanted to make sure I could defend myself, and my burden. That doesn't necessarily mean I need to fight. As long as I keep myself and the Ring out of Sauron's hands... that's all that really matters."

"He's right." Aragorn offered.

"The halfling needs to fight!" Boromir snapped.

"I am a hobbit!" Frodo retorted, sounding unusually annoyed. "And I am half of nothing!"

In an unexpected move he stepped into the man's guard after avoiding his latest swing, using his dwarven dagger to make a small but deep cut into the wrist of his dominant hand; before backing away just as fast as he'd approached. Boromir snapped then, getting even more vicious, until finally Frodo couldn't fully evade a move, the Gondorian's blade making contact with his hip with enough force to throw the hobbit several feet aside and to the ground.

Cries of Frodo's name coming from the hobbits and Ranger echoed in the training grounds; however, one call, in two voices, broke through Boromir's angry-haze the most:

"Little prince!" It was the elf and the dwarf calling him that.

"It's alright, I'm alright." Frodo panted a bit as he sat up; adding some reassuring in khuzdul and sindarin for extra emphasis. "He hit me with the flat side of his sword, so there was no cut."

"He threw you at least three feet!" Sam cried out, horrified.

Gimli couldn't seem to help himself, he snorted, as did Frodo, which actually surprised almost everyone present.

"Frodo?" His young cousins called, confused by Frodo's lack of worry about himself.

"Dwalin hits harder." Was the hobbit's simple answer.

"Dwalin?" Merry called, his mind beginning to make the connection.

"You mean like Mr. Dwalin, from Uncle Bilbo's stories about the mountain?" Pippin asked, suddenly very eager.

"Exactly that Dwalin." Frodo nodded with a small smile. "He helped train me. As did Nori, Kili, Tauriel, Bofur, Bifur..."

"My dad..." Gimli piped in.

"Practically every single member of the Company, and a few others." Frodo summarized.

"Just what are you talking about?" Boromir asked, confused.

The haze caused by his anger was gone, but that didn't change what had been done. He watched Frodo get on his feet slowly, unable to fully hide the pained grimace and low groan as he pulled on his bruised hip.

"You, insane man, just tried to kill a Prince of Erebor!" Gimli snarled at the Gondorian.

Boromir could only stare wide-eyed, not understanding.

"But he's a halfling!" He blurted out in shock.

"I am half of nothing!" Frodo repeated. "I am a hobbit, from the Shire, as is my uncle... who's also the Royal Consort of Erebor, in the Lonely Mountain." He signaled to Gimli. "That's where Gimli's from. And where Uncle Bilbo lives now... He left the Shire for good last year, decided I was old enough to be on my own, and I know he missed uncle Thorin... It was a good thing he left when he did, cannot imagine what would have happened if those Riders had found him before he made it to the Lonely Mountain." He seemed to think of something right then and turned to Gimli. "Did they go there?"

"Did who go where?" Gimli didn't understand for a moment.

"Dark riders, in black horses." Frodo told him.

"Ring-wraiths." Aragorn qualified.

"Ah... aye." Gimli nodded. "One did. I wasn't present of course, but I heard the gossip going 'round. Of a cloaked figure, who offered the King to return the Rings of Power to the dwarves, to ally Mordor to Erebor, if information was given regarding Bilbo Baggins and the One Ring... of course the Royal Consort wasn't in the Throne Room at the time."

Everyone stared at Gimli wide-eyed.

"What happened?" Sam asked quietly.

"The King told him where to stuff it of course!" Gimli stated proudly. "As if he were ever going to agree to anything that would endanger our Royal Consort, or the little prince..." He shook his head, still cheerful. "It was after that that my father and I were sent out, to warn our allies and find Frodo before the Riders did."

"And that's how you found us..." Aragorn murmured in understanding.

"They went looking for me in the Shire." Frodo added quietly. "Sam, Merry, Pippin and I almost didn't make it to Bree..."

"And that's without considering what happened in Weathertop..." Sam added quietly.

Merry and Pippin just flinched, the mere memory of what had happened that night...

"Weathertop?" It was the second time that location was mentioned and Boromir still didn't understand what they were talking about.

"I joined the hobbits in Bree." Aragorn decided to be the one to explain that part. "Gandalf was missing and Frodo needed to get to Rivendell. We were traveling cross-country, avoiding the roads in hopes of staying away from the riders. But they caught up with us on Amon Sûl. We were ambushed by five of them, a fight broke out. I was away in that moment, patrolling the area; I got back in time to scare the wraiths away, but by then the damage was done. Frodo had been stabbed on the shoulder."

The hobbit reflexively reached for the scar beneath his clothes.

"It's where I lost my knife." Frodo added. "The weapons Strider got us did not seem to be enough, I thought a dwarven-made blade would work better."

"And it did!" Pippin exclaimed. "The monster was hurt."

"And it screeched something awful." Merry added for good measure.

"And that's what made them angry enough to stab me." Frodo deadpanned.

He was right, of course, no one knew what else to say after that. Boromir was just trying to process everything that had been revealed: the halfl... hobbit was prince of a dwarven kingdom, he'd been trained to fight, he'd fought the dark-riders, and he had been stabbed... Apparently that was why the others thought he shouldn't fight, yet he still had, and Boromir had still lost (his last move did not count, what he'd done wasn't right and he knew it).

He also would eventually find out how after that Frodo had almost died, and only the prompt intervention of Lady Arwen, Elrond's daughter had saved him. She'd managed to outrun the Riders and make it to Rivendell in time for her father to heal the hobbit. Aragorn and the other three hobbits had met with Gimli and his father Glóin, who'd left Rivendell after warning Lord Elrond to go looking for Frodo when learning that he'd yet to arrive. The two dwarves had helped the Ranger make sure they all made it safely to the elven safe-haven.

The brooding was interrupted right then, by Gandalf's arrival. If he knew anything of what had just transpired he didn't say. Instead he went straight for Frodo."

"Frodo." He called quietly. "Your uncles are here."

That was enough to make the hobbit react. In a second he'd returned Gimli's knife and he was half-running, half-tripping down the path, in the direction Gandalf had come from. The wizard stared at the Gondorian for a handful of seconds, long enough that the man couldn't help but feel cold inside, then he turned around and left as well.

"Come now boys, I'm sure Frodo and Bilbo would love to introduce you." The wizard called as he was leaving.

"Yes!" Merry and Pippin called excitedly. "We're gonna meet a King!"

**xXx**

It was until days later that Boromir got to meet at least one of the visitors. He'd seen the old hal... hobbit, in the distance: with his whitening hair, somewhat wrinkled skin, sturdy clothes and the dark-blue coat. He looked nothing like a King, or like royalty at all, except for the gems in his hair, beads that adorned a few braids on his head; made him look just a bit like a dwarf.

The one he actually got to meet, was the other one.

"You're the man of Gondor, I presume." A voice called from his side one morning.

Boromir could barely hold back his startled reaction. He'd never known a dwarf to be able to move to quietly...

"Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor." He introduced himself politely. "Though I think you already knew that."

"Indeed." The dwarf was looking up at him, yet his attitude was the one of one looking down upon someone he didn't think the best of already.

"Then you have me at a disadvantage, Master Dwarf." Boromir declared.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain." The dwarf declared proudly. "I hail from Erebor, northeast of Esgaroth."

Boromir had heard of Esgaroth, the whispers regarding how the mighty realm had fallen once, upon the arrival of Smaug to the Lonely Mountain. But then things had changed, the dragon was slayed, and Dale had risen once again; and Esgaroth once more had taken its place as one of the great realms of men in Arda. And it wasn't only Esgaroth, there was also its ally in the mountain, the Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor... though of them little was known. And yet to have the king standing before him in that moment.

"My apologies if I startled you, young steward-prince." Thorin said then, though he didn't sound the slightest bit apologetic. "My spouse is quite good at walking here and there unseen, it would appear he's taught me well."

"So it would seem." Boromir murmured, a bit baffled by the whole conversation. "Did you just call me young?"

"Of course." Thorin nodded with nod and the slightest hint of a smile. "I might seem small in size, compared to you, even if I am quite tall for one of my kind. But I'm quite sure I surpass you in age considerably." He made a pause before adding. "I am well over two hundred, after all."

Boromir almost tripped over his own feet at that. Yes, the dwarf was most definitely older than him. He was as shocked as he'd been when finding out that the Ringbearer, Frodo Baggins, was actually 51 years of age... He kept forgetting that no race aged the same, even those who were not immortal like the elves.

The two warriors, different as they might be from each other, walked together in silence across the halls of Rivendell for a short while; until they eventually reached a terrace on the second level, and from where they had a perfect view of one of the gardens bellow, where the hobbits were seating together. The man turned to look at the dwarf, wondering if he'd been intentionally lead there for some reason.

"Have you ever wondered what your legacy will be, once you've left this world?" Thorin asked his companion unexpectedly.

"What...?" Boromir hadn't the slightest idea how to respond to that.

"Perhaps you're too young for that..." Thorin murmured, as if to himself. "But you've chosen to go on a quest that might claim your life, so it makes me wonder, if you've ever thought about it. I remember when I myself set out on a quest, maybe not as noble, for I was not looking to save Middle-Earth, just my own people; and while a dragon is certainly less dangerous than the Dark Lord of Mordor, he was certainly enough of an evil to go against, enough danger of death."

"And did you think of your own legacy when you set out?" Boromir couldn't help but turn the question on the dwarf, even as he thought of his own possible answer.

"I thought I had." The dwarf admitted. "I saw my sister-sons, Fili and Kili as my legacy. Even if I did not live to see Erebor reclaimed, they were my heirs, they would finish what I'd started. And our people would have a mountain to call their own, would have their home, once again..." He shook his head. "Then the quest happened. And I lost so much, and gained as well. I lost Fili to death, yet Kili has become more than I could have ever expected either of them to be. He's married now, to Tauriel, former inhabitant of Mirkwood..."

"A dwarf married to an elf?!" Boromir could barely handle the shock.

"Kili is King now, has been so for a year." Thorin went on. "And he's a good King. With Tauriel there to help balance him out when necessary, to support him. They make a good pair and will do right for Erebor. As will their own son, when his time comes." He let out a breath. "And then there's Frodo. He's always been such a special lad, a bright light... much as his uncle, my Bilbo... my life wouldn't be what it is if it weren't for them. If there is one thing I regret of being as old as I am is that I cannot go along on this quest, try and keep him safe. I know Bilbo feels the same. But Gimli will do right by him, as did his father in our own quest. And Legolas... well, I certainly have higher hopes for him than I ever did his father. Mirkwood might be our ally, but there are some wrongs I shall never forgive Thranduil for."

Boromir was so shocked, he couldn't even let out a gasp anymore. At first he'd thought he'd heard wrong, the idea of two men being together... he wouldn't say it wasn't done; he wasn't as naive as to think it never happened, but he'd always thought it wasn't right. Still, maybe others races just saw things differently. But that wasn't all. Finding out that a she-elf was Queen of a mountain, she was married to a dwarf and had children with him... Frodo was indeed prince of Erebor... and Legolas was the son of Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood?!

"I always knew Frodo would do great things in his life." The dwarf went on, as if not seeing the shock in the Gondorian. "Both Bilbo and I did. I just wish it wouldn't come at such great cost to him... though I suppose after my own experience, I shall be satisfied as long as he comes back to us. I know that's Bilbo's greatest fear, that our nephew might not come back."

"He has good people looking after him." The Steward-prince spoke before he was fully conscious of his own words. "We will look after him."

"Will you?" There was doubt in Thorin's voice, hard as stone and as sharp as a blade. "I have seen you, son of Denethor, have seen the way you look at Frodo. Except... you're not really looking at him, are you? No, when you look his way, all you see is the thing hanging from his neck!"

"Pardon me?!" Boromir most definitely was not expecting that.

"I look at you, Steward-prince, and I see myself." Thorin admitted with some hesitation. "When I was... well, not exactly young, though certainly foolish enough. When I thought myself so strong and wise, that nothing could take me down. Always repeating that I was not my grandfather, that the sickness that took over his mind, that destroyed him in so many ways, would not take hold on me. Yet it did... oh how it did! So much that for a short time, a short, most terrible time, I believed a jewel, a cold, mere stone, to be more important that my love, my heart, the light of my life." He let out a breath, misty-blue eyes meeting the Gondorian's grey ones. "I was incredibly fortunate, in ways I will never stop being thankful for, even if I also will never believe I deserved. I lost a sister-son, yet got to keep one; got the chance to re-earn the trust and gain the love of a hobbit, and with him yet another nephew. Yes, I was quite fortunate indeed..." He closed his eyes briefly, before focusing again. "But that is not really my point."

"What then, is your point, Master Dwarf?" Boromir asked, a bit harshly.

"The point I was trying to make was and is, in regards to yourself, not me." The Son of Durin declared. "For I have been under the thrall of gold, of treasure, and can recognize it in yourself. The Arkenstone had no dark-magic in it, no power beyond the remnants of a drake who laid on it for too many years; yet the One Ring... everyone knows the power and the darkness in that thing, and the way it seeks to return to its matter. It will corrupt and destroy anything and anyone in order to achieve its purpose."

"I can withstand it."

"But can you? I seek not to deal you insult, Steward-prince, but I assure you, no one is truly immune to the whispers of evil. And in my experience, believing yourself to be above such weaknesses, will only weaken you all the more. You need to be aware of the risks, and above all, need to accept already that the One Ring is a weapon that ought to be destroyed, not used."

"You say you've felt a thrall, of this Arkenstone, would you have destroyed it?"

"Lost as I was back then, no I wouldn't have. But it wasn't in my hands anyway. Bilbo took the matter into his own and..." He closed his eyes tightly, pained. "I did not take it well. Even if I were to live eternally I could never regret anything more than I do my words and actions of that day. The screams, the accusation, the banishment... so close I came to killing the one person I've truly loved... and all for a stone..." He shook his head. "Had I gone through with it, it would have destroyed me completely. And had I been forced to face my forebears after taking such actions... The shame probably would have destroyed whatever might have been left of me."

"What makes you so sure I will fall?"

"That you're so sure you won't. I was the same. Like the saying goes, pride goeth before doth fall." Thorin let out a breath. "Learn from an old dwarf's mistake. Don't let pride be your downfall."

Boromir did not know what to say that; thankfully, Thorin wasn't really waiting for an answer. He simply left the Gondorian where he stood and walked to the nearest staircase and down it, to the garden where his kin awaited.

**xXx**

"_What do you wish your legacy to be?" _

Three months later Boromir couldn't help but keep asking himself that question. He wasn't sure if it had been the morose tone in the dwarf's words, or his own fear that he might be right. He hadn't antagonized Frodo again during their time in Imladris. There were times during the journey when he was sure he could hear a fell voice in the air, or perhaps it was inside his own head. He kept fighting it off, kept telling himself he wouldn't fall, he was strong...

Boromir, son of Denethor and Finduilas, older brother of Faramir, captain of the guard and future Steward of Gondor was a proud man. He knew himself well-enough to accept that. He was well educated and had trained for many years to become a man his father, brother, his people, could be proud of. He'd thought he knew everything there was to know about the world... until he arrived to Imladris and everything was turned upside-down. When he learnt that halflings existed, though the right name was hobbits (and they were half of nothing), that one of them was Royal Consort in a dwarven kingdom and another its prince; that a she-elf was queen in that same kingdom; that realms of elves, men and dwarves in Rhovanion were allied and had been for sixty years. He realized then that he'd known nothing at all.

The day also came when he realized he wasn't quite as strong as he'd believed himself to be... as he wished he was... He'd tried his best to ignore the dark voice inside his head, the voice whispering to him to take the Ring, to kill the hobbit and take it... but he was so afraid: for the people of Gondor, for his father and brother fighting so hard to keep the shadow of Mordor at bay, for the Company he did not want to admit he truly cared for, for the man he was slowly beginning to respect and might one day willingly call his King and, most of all, he feared for himself (though he would never admit it, not even in his own head).

Ten days had passed since leaving the peace in the Golden Woods, they'd just reached Parth Galen, and decisions needed to be made, regarding the path to take to the dark realm. Their Ringbearer had gone for a walk and Boromir didn't fully realize when he ended up going after him, with the pretense of collecting wood for the fire.

Eventually he found the hobbit, wandering silently near the remains of an old stone statue. The moment he got near, Boromir began hearing the dark voice again, he did his best to ignore it even as he approached Frodo.

"None of us should wander alone." The Gondorian tried his best to sound at ease, though he was anything but. "You, least of all. So much depends on you." He made a pause. "Frodo? I know why you seek solitude. You suffer, I see it day by day. You sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo. Other paths that we might take."

"I know what you would say." The hobbit replied even as he backed away slowly. "It would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."

"Warning?" Boromir took offense to that. "Against what? We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us, to destroy what hope we have, don't you see that is madness?"

"There is no other way!" Frodo exclaimed, his eyes willing the man to see reason.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir yelled in anger, throwing the gathered wood to the forest ground. "If you would but lend me the Ring…"

"No!" The hobbit cried out, stepping back more obviously.

"Why do you recoil?" Boromir asked. "I am no thief."

"You are not yourself." The Ringbearer kept trying to make him see the truth.

"What chance do you think you have?" The Gondorian demanded. "They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!"

The halfling... hobbit... Frodo, stared at Boromir right then, blue eyes wide with a mix of despair and horror. And in just that instant, everything changed. Looking into those eyes, for a moment the Steward-prince could remember a very different set of blue eyes, those of a certain dwarf-royal, in a terrace in Rivendell. He remembered Thorin Oakenshield, remembered his words.

"_Don't let pride be your downfall." _

It was as if a switch had just been flipped. Slowly, Boromir lowered himself to his knees. Frodo, who'd been poised to run away looked at the Gondorian with sudden confusion. Yet when he made to approach Boromir immediately raised his hand to stop him; and as he did his eyes laid on the small scar on his wrist, yet another reminder.

"No." He called in a hoarse voice. "Don't... don't come any closer Frodo."

"Are you yourself again, Boromir?" The hobbit asked quietly.

"I think I am." The man said hesitantly. "But I cannot be sure how long that'll last if you bring that thing any closer to me again. I..." His eyes were full of shame as he forced himself to look at the Ringbearer. "I'm sorry Frodo... I'm so, so sorry... Your uncle, King Thorin... He warned me this would happen. And I didn't listen. I was too proud... too stupid. I almost..." He didn't even dare finish the sentence, all he could do was keep apologizing, even as he knew he deserved no forgiveness. "I'm am so sorry..."

"It's alright Boromir." Frodo told him, not moving from his spot. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You did not hurt me."

"I could have." The Gondorian admitted. "I almost did."

"But you didn't." The hobbit insisted. "And that's what counts in the end. You did not hurt me. You pulled yourself back to sanity. You are a good man Boromir..."

The man could have cried at those words... he really, really wasn't a good man.

"I need to go." Frodo murmured after a minute in absolute silence.

"Yes, I think..." Boromir gestured to himself, too afraid to move, least he end up going after Frodo and not be able to stop again.

"No, it's not you... or not just you." Frodo admitted hesitantly. "I think I need to go, to leave everyone." Once he began he couldn't stop. "It was you now, but who's to say it'll stop there? Next time it might be Aragorn, Legolas... maybe even Gimli! I cannot take the risk. I cannot keep pulling you into this darkness, it's not right."

"And what about yourself?" The man couldn't help but ask. "It's not like you chose to be the one to carry the One Ring like this..."

"But I did." Frodo reminded him quietly. "In Lord Elrond's Council... and even before that, when I left the Shire... For many years I've known I was meant to do something. My uncles explained it to me. Lady Eleana, the Guardian, who saved Uncle Thorin's life in Ravenhill during the Battle of the Five Armies... she saved my uncle's life, when he was supposed to be beyond all hope. She changed his Fate, and with his, uncle Bilbo's as well." He made a pause before adding the rest. "She had to go, after that. But before leaving she wrote a letter. She'd seen things, in the future, she let uncle Bilbo know that he was meant to be part of the life of another, one who would one day have to fight for the freedom of Arda... My uncles did not know what they meant, but did their best to be ready and then... and then Mama and Papa died, and Uncle Bilbo adopted me..."

Boromir's eyes widened, as he, finally, began to understand.

"I was raised on stories about Uncle Bilbo's adventures." Frodo went on, for once getting the chance to get it all out. "Have been traveling here and there from the time I was halfway through my tween years. Uncle Bilbo began taking me to Erebor when I became off-age. Seventeen times I traveled all the way from the Shire, across the Misty Mountains, Mirkwood, Esgaroth and to the Lonely Mountain. Uncle Thorin, Aunt Dís, and the rest of their Company trained me. I'm no good with a bow, and barely decent at knife-throwing, but I'm pretty good with different lengths of swords, spears, and can even handle small axes; could never train with war-hammers, though, none were light enough for me." He shook his head. "When I turned fifty and Uncle Bilbo left without me, to go back to his spouse, leaving the Shire for good... I thought that was it. I wasn't going with him anymore, I wouldn't be trained. I thought it meant my time had passed... maybe my uncles were wrong and I wasn't the one Lady Eleana spoke of... and then Gandalf told me that the ring Uncle Bilbo had found in the goblin caves and left with me when he departed for the last time, was the One Ring, and envoys from Sauron would be coming after me to get it back." He let out a breath. "It wasn't really a hard choice to make in the end. And it truly was my choice. I left the Shire with Sam before my fifty-first birthday. Pippin and Merry joined us along the way. My intent was to meet Gandalf in Bree. Instead I found Aragorn and he got all of us to Rivendell. The rest, of course, you know."

Boromir did not speak, what could he have said? The hobbit before him had just revealed a tale such as he could have never imagined, there simply were no words.

"So you see." Frodo went on after a little while. "I do carry the One Ring by my own choice. It's a choice I've made twice already... and I suppose for the third time now."

The Steward-Prince did not ask him what choice that was, it was evident enough. He did not offer words of comfort, attempts to dissuade him or useless platitudes, for he knew better than that. Instead, he had but one thing to say:

"May the Valar watch over you, Master Baggins." He said in the most heart-felt tone.

"Friends call me Frodo, Boromir, and I still consider you my friend." The hobbit said with a small, gentle smile.

Nothing more needed to be said. The two were at peace; and with that, Frodo walked away.

Boromir made no attempts to follow him, he did not even get back on his feet until much later, not wanting to risk losing his mind to the will of the Ring again. And then the Uruk-hai were there, and in the rush of battle, everything else was pushed aside.

Boromir of Gondor would die that day. He knew it was coming almost from the moment the battle began; and yet the thought did not make him despair. Instead, an odd calm settled over him. Even as he fought with everything he had for his companions, for his people, for his King... He'd done his part. He had been part of a Fellowship representing the Free Peoples of Arda, one meant to save the world... and even if his life was lost, he'd gone down fighting for what was right. In the end, even when things had become so hard, when the darkness had pulled at him in such a way he was sure he would fall, he stood strong, he stood in the light. That was to be his legacy, and no man could ask for more than that.

* * *

><p>Yes, I let Boromir die. Technically that one was not my fault, it's canon. The way I see it, I could change how Boromir acted, but not his death, nothing anyone did pushed a different outcome. It's different when we're working with 'tenth walkers' and all that, but here that's the way it is. Also, I wanted the focus to be in the fact that even if he did die, he never fell into darkness, not really, and I think that's important.<p>

The thing with Thorin... I could see the similarities between the Ring's thrall and the gold-madness, and I just thought Thorin was the right person to address it, to make a change however small. Regarding the young hobbit's open-mindedness (for Bilbo's marriage to Thorin, among other things), well, the whole Took blood was mentioned, and the Gamgees are so loyal to the Baggins... I also think they're all young enough not to be as prejudiced... and being surrounded by so many new things may make them more accepting of different things. I hope that's alright with you all; I really didn't want to waste space being negative or prejudiced (I'm just not like that).

You'll see more of Amon Hen and a summary of the rest of the quest in the next chapter, which will be focused on Aragorn (he deserved one). There you will also see the most serious change I've made to Tolkien's work. The way I see it, changes have been small thus far, but it's only snowballing, and it's all going a specific direction...

Also, I've worked out who the focus for the final two chapters will be (yes, besides Aragorn's we have two more to go)... and I have no idea what I'll be doing afterwards. Still working on that... I'm considering writing a short AU (shorter than the ones I write for Nightingale... though those of you who've read my Loki-centric series will know what I mean), let me know what you think about (it would only be one, I promise), and if there is anything specific you would like to see (that wasn't possible here) let me know and I'll see what I can do.


	8. Loyalty, Honor and a Willing Heart

The mantra of Thorin's Company (which later on became the mantra of Erebor's dwarves) describes well enough not only them, but every warrior of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

A New Alliance is forming, no one will back down from Sauron this time.

I'm warning you right now that I mix up a few things from the book and the movies. You'll see specifically what I mean inside the chapter itself, and I'm sure it'll soon become obvious why I did it... it's nothing too big, but it was necessary, for my ideas to fix.

* * *

><p><strong>Loyalty, Honor and a Willing Heart <strong>

There were a few moments of time that stood out sharply in the Ranger's mind: like the moment when Lord Elrond, a man he'd grown up seeing and caring for like a father, had told him the truth of his lineage, both the good and the bad; his mother's last goodbye, once she was sure he was ready to go through life on his own (though he himself had never been fully sure of that); the moment Arwen Undómiel, the love of his life, offered her life to him in a promise of marriage; or the conversation he and Frodo Baggins had had in Amon Hen...

His name was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, from the line of Isildur. In his veins ran the blood of Kings, of those meant to rule Gondor and Arnor... and also the blood of the one who'd betrayed his brothers in arms and chosen to keep a cursed object when it should have been destroyed. It was that part that Aragorn hated and feared in equal measure; the failure of his ancestor, his weakness... which might at any moment become Aragorn's own.

It was one of the reasons why he'd offered his own life so readily for the quest to destroy the Ring. He didn't believe himself strong enough to carry it, but once someone else had been chosen to bear that burden, how could he do anything but try his best to help in any way he could? Even if it meant his life in the end, it would be a good way to go (It would certainly hurt having to leave Arwen before ever being able to call her his wife, but at least then she would go West with her family, she wouldn't be alone).

It'd been a hard journey, making it to Parth Galen, and the Ranger well knew it was far from finished. They were supposed to be resting; more stressed out than he would have preferred, with the thought of orcs and other dark creatures just across the river from them, and the suspicion that at least one member of the Fellowship was slowly falling victim to the dark whispers of the One Ring. If they couldn't trust the members of their own company, who then were they supposed to trust? Theirs was already a hard mission, and it would only get worse the closer they got to Mordor and to achieving their purpose.

Tensions had been running high ever since their leaving Lothlórien; probably even before, though after the brief respite they'd found in the Golden Woods, it was all the more evident. And then to find Frodo and Boromir both missing at the same time... Aragorn would admit (if only to himself) that he'd feared the worst. He knew the Gondorian to be a good man, yet he also knew that the Ring had been tempting him from the very first day, during Elrond's Council in Rivendell.

The Ranger considered it almost a miracle when, a while later, he found the Ringbearer sitting on the edge of the ruins of what had once been Amon Hen, staring blankly into the distance. He approached slowly, keeping a distance from the ruins and the hobbit, so as not to alarm him when he was finally noticed.

"I know you're there, Strider." Frodo called after a minute or so.

Even though they'd all since learnt his real name, the hobbits seemed to prefer calling him by the one he'd initially given to them, back in Bree, that of Strider.

"Frodo?" He finally called, approaching the Ringbearer slowly. "Is everything alright? You were missed, and with everything going on..."

"Sometimes I wonder if anyone worries about me anymore, or just this cursed thing I carry..." The hobbit muttered under his breath, shaking his head almost right away. "I suppose that's not fair really... I'm just having a bad day."

"Did anything go wrong?" Aragorn asked, growing more and more strung up by the second. "Did someone... Boromir...?"

"What do you know about the events that preceded the Battle of Five Armies?" Frodo surprised him with the unexpected question. "After the death of Smaug, but before the war?"

"You mean what they call the Arkenstone debacle?" Strider asked, he was sure he could hear Frodo snort, but focused on giving a proper answer. "Not much. Nothing more than rumors in any case. I know that nowadays the stone is embedded at the very top of an obelisk that was built in the middle point between Erebor and Dale. I've heard also that before it was believed to be some kind of symbol of the King Under the Mountain, and that Bilbo Baggins used it somehow to convince Thorin Oakenshield to parley with humans and elves, so they would be ready for the enemies that even then were marching their way." He made a pause as he considered some things. "Not much is said about it, really. Though there are other... well, other versions of the story, one might say."

"Does one of those versions have one of my uncles trying to kill the other?" Frodo inquired.

"Well..." Aragorn hated admitting the fact, though he had heard something like that. "Nothing official is known, nothing more than gossip."

"That's to be expected." Frodo nodded. "After all, from the ones present that day, most either didn't really hear or did not care; and of those that did on both accounts... King Bard Dragon-Slayer is long since dead, King Thranduil and Lord Dáin would keep the matter private out of respect for those involved, and the remaining members of the Company hate talking about those dark events, even among themselves."

"How do you know what happened then?" The Ranger inquired.

"My uncles told me." The hobbit said. "Uncle Thorin, to be more specific. Two days before my adoption was finalized. While their marriage was only legal in dwarrow society, Uncle Thorin wanted to be a part of my family, he wanted to be able to adopt me, like Uncle Bilbo adopted Kili. And before doing that, he wanted me to know exactly what I was getting into. So they told me the story, and when the moment came it was Uncle Thorin who told that part. I know how much he hated even remembering it..." He took a deep breath and then said it. "Remembering that he once tried to kill his One over a bloody stone..."

Aragorn was speechless. Truth be told, he hadn't known the eldest royal couple of Erebor for long (no more than a few weeks), but having seen the two men together he couldn't imagine one of them so much as raising a hand against the other.

"Uncle Thorin had dragon-sickness." Frodo explained. "Gold-fever, some call it too. He was obsessed over the treasure inside Erebor, and over finding the Arkenstone, so much he would allow for the Company to do nothing except look for it. And when Bard Dragon-Slayer arrived, looking for help for himself and the survivors from the destruction Smaug had wrought in Lake-Town, my dwarven uncle refused to give them anything. It probably didn't help that Thranduil was right there too, with a host of elves behind them, but still." He shook his head. "Uncle Bilbo tried to make him see reason, but Uncle Thorin was too far gone. As it turned out, there was no need to be looking for the Arkenstone anymore, my hobbit uncle found it the very first day. He was going to give it to the King, until he realized it wouldn't help the situation any. And so he decided to do something else with it; he handed it to Bard and Thranduil, so they could use it as a bargaining chip, to force the King's hand... Uncle Bilbo was too noble not to admit what he'd done when Uncle Thorin doubted the honesty of Bard's claims regarding the stone, and then my dwarven uncle snapped. He yelled at my hobbit uncle, nearly strangled him and came quite close to throwing him off the wall they were standing at in that moment."

"Then why...?" The Ranger wasn't even sure how to finish the question in his mind.

"Why Uncle Bilbo stayed and married him?" The Ring-bearer finished for him.

Strider just nodded quietly.

"Because they love each other." Frodo said as if it were obvious. "They are each other's one and only love. They always have been." He sighed. "A great many things happened after that. Between the arrival of the enemy armies, the battle itself, what happened at Ravenhill... Uncle Thorin came so close to dying, and when he thought he would soon breathe his last, all he wanted was to beg Uncle Bilbo for forgiveness. It was a miracle he survived, and they weren't about to ignore a second chance." He made a pause before adding. "Also, I know how insane this sounds but, I don't think Uncle Thorin would have been able to kill Uncle Bilbo. Even as mad as he was, as lost in the dragon-sickness... I do believe that, in the end, love would have won. And I think that Uncle Bilbo believes that too, and that's why he stayed."

For a few seconds not a world was said, and then Frodo seemed to remember something.

"But that wasn't really the point I was trying to make." He said. "The point was the gold-fever. Even back then Uncle Thorin was deeply in love with Uncle Bilbo, and I've told you what he nearly did, over nothing more than a bloody stone... the look I saw in Boromir's eyes earlier today, it's the same as the one I imagine Uncle Bilbo had to see in his One."

"Boromir!" The Ranger was in full alert right away.

"It's alright." The Ringbearer waved his tension off. "I still have the Ring and Boromir didn't hurt me. He managed to fight off the dark influence of the Ring just in time... and yet, he's fallen, truly fallen, once now. He knows it could very well happen again and..." He hesitated a moment before adding. "I don't want that, not for him, and not for anyone else in the Fellowship. I knew what I was getting into when I chose to take the Ring... mostly. But the mere idea of the others: Gimli, Legolas, Pippin, Merry, Sam... you... seeing in any of your eyes that darkness." He shook, a half-sob escaping his mouth. "I can handle the dark whispers the Ring might direct my way, but I don't think I'm strong enough to see that kind of darkness in the eyes of people I care so much for. And if something were to happen to any of you because of a dark influence... I couldn't take it."

"You're strong Frodo." Aragorn tried to reassure him. "Stronger than you know."

"I know just how strong I am Strider." Frodo whispered. "And just what I'm capable of."

In two beats of one heart, Isildur's heir came to the painful realization of what exactly his small friend meant with those words.

"You're leaving..." He breathed out.

"It's what needs to be done." The Ringbearer said. "For the good of the Quest, of Middle Earth... but especially, for the good of everyone in this Fellowship." He let out a sigh. "Lets be honest Strider, we both know there's no way the nine of us would have ever been able to get into Mordor without getting caught... this needs to be done."

The Ranger did not contradict him, he couldn't have, he knew Frodo was right, much as he might hate to admit it. And yet, there was something he needed to do, before letting the Ring-bearer be on his way.

"You know I would have gone with you to the end, right?" He asked the hobbit quietly. "Into the very fires of Mordor."

"I know." Frodo nodded slowly. "Please watch over the others. Especially Sam, and Gimli, they will not understand."

The man nodded, he would do his very best to protect the others.

Frodo got on his feet then, beginning his trek downhill, in the direction he'd come from; but before he could disappear behind the trees, he looked over his shoulder.

"Aragorn," It was the first time he used the man's name. "Thank you."

The Ranger couldn't fully comprehend what the hobbit might be thanking him for. It's not like he'd done much, not really; and in the end the Ring-bearer still had to go on alone... it was in that moment that Aragorn promised himself that even if he couldn't go with Frodo to Mount Doom, he would do all he could to make sure the quest succeeded in the end. It was his promise to himself and, in a way, to Frodo, his uncles and the rest of the Fellowship as well.

**xXx**

Much had happened since that day and the conversation the Ranger had had with the valiant hobbit. From a battle right there in Parth Galen, Pippin's and Merry's abduction, Boromir's death; through valleys and hills, into Edoras and the Golden Halls of Meduseld, where they'd freed a King from a cursed laid on him by one he'd considered ally and friend; to the fortress of Helm's Deep, where in one night the old alliance between men and elves was resurrected and one of the worst battles of the Third Age was fought, the likes of which hadn't been since since the Battle of Five Armies, at Erebor's gates; to Isengard, where a living forest and its shepherds, the Ents, had laid waste to the treachery caused by Saruman; across the Paths of the Dead, summoning an army long cursed, to end at the Fields of Pelennor, where a battle even worse than the one at Helm's Deep was fought, and won (if only barely).

It was Mid-march already, but a few days from Ostara and Spring was slowly but surely erasing the last remains of winter. With the epic battle that had taken place just the day before it was not really surprising that most people would choose to rest for as long as they could... especially those who understood better than others that it wasn't over just yet.

The remaining members of the Fellowship (except Merry who was still in the Houses of Healing, and Pippin who was with him) had agreed to gather together in the throne room of Minas Tirith with Éomer and what leader might survive of the soldiers of Gondor to decide what to do next. As he waited, Aragorn could only contemplate the long blade in his hands, the same he'd just fought a battle with, and which had allowed him to call upon an army none but the heir of Isildur could have demanded the loyalty of; and as hesitant as he'd been about it (both the army and his own title) he'd done it, all of it, and there was no going back anymore.

He could still remember his own words, as he stood before the king of the dead. It was the first time he'd called himself Heir of Isildur, without immediately thinking of what he saw as a terrible weakness implied simply by bearing that title. And it was until that morning in March, having just saved the White City, and released the army of the dead (though he agreed with Gimli they would have been very useful in future battles, he'd given them his word); it wasn't the first time he held the sword, since it'd been reforged during the time the Fellowship spent in Rivendell preparing for the beginning of the Quest... but never before had it felt so heavy; never before had he held it and through it felt all the weight of his line, his responsibility, all of it.

The Ranger wondered how others did it. Like Thorin, or the previous and current Kings of the new Dale (whom he'd met only once): Bard Dragon-Slayer and Báin Black-Arrow, how had they gone from being a wanderers, warriors, or even normal men, to Kings?

Eventually Aragorn's brooding thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his friends and companions, and so the War meeting began.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight." Gandalf informed them. "The darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it." Aragorn said, sure of it.

"If Sauron had the Ring, all of Arda would know it." Legolas punctuated.

"It's only a matter of time." The White Wizard was being oddly pessimistic. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there." Gimli grunted, even as he smoked. "Let him rot! Why should we care?

"Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom." Gandalf sighed."I've sent him to his death."

That certainly made Gimli change his tune, though only Legolas could hear the quiet words he whispered in khuzdul; the elf did not actually know the words, but from constant use of the very words he knew it was what he called Frodo, an endearment of some kind.

"No." The Heir of Isildur refused to give up. "There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" The dwarf's tone was full of disbelief, yet all who knew him knew Gimli would do almost anything if it meant helping Frodo, his little prince, his littlest cousin.

"Draw out Sauron's armies." Aragorn stated brazenly. "Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

More than one person reacted in shock at that; Gimli being the most visible as he almost chocked on the smoke from his pipe.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms." Éomer, the (unofficial) King of Rohan (though he'd been named officially as heir before the passing of his uncle), stated.

"Not for ourselves." The Ranger wasn't as delusional as to believe that. "But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion." Legolas murmured in understanding.

"Certainty of death. Small chance of success." Gimli enlisted in a deadpan tone. "What are we waiting for?"

As if on answer to his question they could all hear a long note from a horn coming from the outside right then.

"What...?" The Gondorian man, who'd remained silent through the whole conversation (either too shocked or too intimidated to contribute anything), looked as shocked as everyone else.

"That sounds like no horn I've ever heard before." Éomer stated, uneasy.

"That's because what you heard wasn't any one horn..." Legolas began, looking oddly pleased.

"But two." Gimli finished for him.

Not a single word more was said by either of them, instead elf and dwarf seemed to move in sync as they practically bolted from their places and out of the room, closely followed by the rest of their friends.

Aragorn stopped so abruptly upon reaching the courtyard the Éomer and the Gondorian man came quite close to crashing against his back. Yet, right as the Rohirric was about to complain about not giving a warning, his own eyes laid on what was before him, and he couldn't help but understand the deep shock the others were in. Because right then before them stood three armies, of three separate races, and neither of them had been there the day before.

Elves, dwarves and men, the three armies stood together, a thousand strong each, aside from a smaller group that stood ahead of them, formed by thirty-something men, almost half a dozen or so elves and a couple of dwarves.

"What is this?" The Southern Ranger finally blurted out.

The group standing at the vanguard turned to look at each other briefly before one of the dwarves stepped forward, standing straight and proud.

"I am Kili, son of Vili, sister-son of Thorin, King of Erebor." He announced proudly, pushing back the hood of his cloak to reveal himself. "With me stands my wife..."

"Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, Queen of Erebor." The auburn-haired elleth introduced herself as she pushed back her own hood. "And..."

"Halbarad, son of Dathon." One of the men introduced himself next. "Lord of Dale, Ranger of the North and currently acting captain for the Dúnedain."

"Behind us stand a legion of each of the armies of Erebor, Mirkwood and Dale." Kili began talking again. "Gathered together to honor the Treaty of Rhovanion, and, of course, to help make sure my littlest cousin's Quest succeeds."

"Cousin?" Éomer asked, completely lost.

There were three new armies standing right in front of them, four if they were to count the thirty rangers from the north separate from the men of Dale; and he still couldn't wrap his head around what exactly was going on. Rhovanion was leagues away, what could possibly have brought armies of such kingdoms (or fractions of said armies), especially dwarven and elven kingdoms, to fight on the other side of Middle-Earth?

"Frodo Baggins is the nephew of Bilbo Baggins, Royal Consort of Erebor." Tauriel explained. "As such he's our prince... and a dear friend. We're here to help him and his quest in any way we possibly can." She made a pause. "I know our numbers aren't many, but after getting the news that an army of Easterlings was marching in the direction of Erebor and Dale, this was all that could be spared at this time. Though I can assure you, each warrior in this army is brave, experienced and more than ready to lay down their lives if necessary to see this Quest fulfilled."

"Who else is here?" Gimli asked, being one of the first to notice that the elves standing with the vanguard were dressed too differently from those of the army itself to be a part of the same army.

"We're not Dúnedain ourselves." One of the two younger males elves began.

"But we shall stand by them all the same." A second voice, almost identical in tenor to the first, added in the same tone.

"Elladan, Elrohir..." Aragorn breathed out. "My brothers..."

"And not just us." They said in sync.

It was then that everyone truly paid attention to the other male elf with them and realized that he was not just any elf but...

"Lord Elrond..." Gimli and Legolas spoke at the same time.

"Adar (Father)..." The Ranger breathed out, not even noticing the word that had just crossed his lips; it'd been so long since he last (dared) call the elven lord by such a title.

"The time has come, Estel, ion nín (my son)..." Elrond replied, having heard perfectly the word pronounced by his foster-son.

"Time?" The Heir of Isildur did not understand.

For all answer the banner (white on green, bearing the white three of Gondor and so obviously handmade to the eyes that cared to see) moved aside, revealing the last elf in the group. The only non-male elf, in a mint-green dress, looking so beautiful all who looked at her were left absolutely breathless.

"Arwen..." Aragorn gasped.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing, really couldn't. He hadn't seen her since the Fellowship had left Rivendell; a few months that felt like hundreds of years at times. Though he'd felt her, inside him, a number of times, especially after he'd fallen off that cliff, near Helm's Deep, when he'd almost believed himself lost. But to see her there in that moment, right in front of him, so close and so... real.

He took her hands in his, holding her tightly, trying to convey through touch and look all that he was feeling right then. He wished he could do more, yet knew it wouldn't be proper; and if there was one thing he would never do, is hurt his beloved Arwen in anyway, or besmirch her honor. Still, just holding her hands, and losing himself in her deep blue-grey eyes, even if just for one moment, was enough to make him feel better than he had in so long...

"Why...?" He had so many questions, yet couldn't find the right way to ask them. "How...?"

"It's been decided that the time for a last stand has come." Arwen declared, for him and for all of those watching them. "It began in Erebor and extended from there. None from the main royal line in Dale could take the place as leader of their own legion, but Prince Halbarad has as much right to lead them. And with King Kili, Queen Tauriel and their respective armies..." She smiled. "When they passed by Rivendell Ada (Dad) decided the time had come to make a stand against Sauron, once and for all. So here we are." She raised a hand to Aragorn's lips before he could voice any complaint. "I am not here to do battle. Though it was decided that healers would be as useful as warriors at this point. I am here as a healer, as is Lady Sigrid II (second daughter of Princess Tilda and Prince-Consort Ori) from Dale and Erebor; between the two of us we have all the healing knowledge from our three races, we shall do all we can for the ill and wounded."

Everyone nodded, feeling thankful already (and confused about the 'three races' comment... few outside Rhovanion were used to there being couples and families with mixed-races).

"If you are here who is ruling in Erebor?" Gimli asked suddenly, confused.

"Our Uncles hold the throne again, and Mother of course is there to help them." Kili said calmly. "Fili is too young still to be Acting King, but quite ready to deal with some responsibilities being Crown Prince, and Dáin has promised to take some of his best Warriors and provide back-up for the Lonely Mountain as well."

"Father?" Legolas asked quietly.

"King Thranduil shall stand with the rest of the army in Mirkwood, to honor the alliance with Dale and Erebor." Tauriel told her old friend kindly. "He gave me the temporary charge of Captain of Mirkwood so the elves would follow me this far. They shall follow you now."

"Captain of the Guard is your rightful rank, Tauriel." Legolas told him quietly but authoritatively. "Even if now you're also a Queen... I'd rather you continue leading the elves, as I shall stand with the Fellowship in the battle to come."

As one the Mirkwood elves all bowed their heads in acknowledgement of the order. As shocking as it might have been at first, sixty years was a long time, and they all had since grown used to Tauriel's change in status and titles. Some were quite sure that once the stress from the events and battle had passed, Thranduil would have received her back, had she asked, but by then Tauriel was already building herself a new home in the new mountain, with her match, and later on their children, no one could begrudge her that.

"So..." Kili began, sounding half-eager, half-anxious (though only those who really knew him noticed it). "What's the plan then?"

The others explained it then. Éomer, the Gondorian Captain and a handful of others who'd approached when noticing the new warriors in their midst and who were close enough to listen to everything kept waiting for one of the new leaders to blow a gasket at the absolutely insane plan being shared... it never happened.

"Alright." Kili nodded after sharing nods with his two companions and turning back to the remaining members of the Fellowship. "We'll march with you."

"Alright?!" Éomer blurted out. "Alright, that's all you have to say to their insane plan?"

"It's really no more insane than thirteen dwarves and a hobbit (Gandalf did not count as he kept leaving them) marching from one corner of Middle-Earth to another, looking to recover the old Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor from the claws of the last Great Dragon." Kili drawled. "We managed that... I'm sure we can manage this."

No one commented that not everyone had survived that quest, and Kili certainly wasn't crazy enough to believe they would all come out unscathed from what was to come... but he knew as well as Aragorn, Tauriel and a few others did that no matter how insane it seemed, a stand against Sauron needed to be done: for themselves, for Frodo, and for all of Arda.

"Sauron will suspect a trap." Gandalf stated, doubtful. "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will." Aragorn said, a plan already in mind.

"You're planning on issuing a challenge as a way to call his attention." Halbarad guessed.

"He hated Isildur, and even now he hates all who might belong to his line." Aragorn said simply. "He's wanted to kill me for many years now, being that I'm the only direct descendant left, he won't be able to pass this chance."

"That's not exactly true..." Tauriel murmured quietly.

That called everyone's attention instantly, though most turned to look at Halbarad, who at some point had been said to be his cousin.

"Not me." The Lord stated. "I may be a Dúnedain, but I'm not from that line."

"I meant me." Tauriel clarified. "My father, Dirhael, was the son of Arahael..."

"The second Chieftain of the Dúnedain..." Several of the rangers mumbled among themselves.

"My mother was Tawar, a she-elf from Lindon, which makes me Peredhel, like Lord Elrond and his kin." Tauriel explained in few words her family history. "After my father passed, and with the Dúnedain going back to their nomad ways, Naneth (Mother) decided I needed to have stability growing up, so we went to live in Greenwood. She was related to Queen Valadhiel. Legolas and I are actually distant cousins."

Aragorn nodded, even as he fought to grasp what had just been revealed to him. He had blood kin from his father's side, even if it was distant.

"I agree with Tauriel." Kili nodded, then allowed a mischievous smirk to appear on his face. "How do you think the Dark Lord would react if he were to see not only the last Heir of Isildur, but a lady of the same line, and the rest of the leaders of some of the most important Kingdoms of Middle-Earth ready to stand against him?"

"He would never allow for that to happen." Gandalf stated.

"Exactly." Aragorn and Kili nodded at the same time.

"He would have to take us seriously." Tauriel offered her two cents. "Come at us with all he's got, the full strength of his army, until Mordor is empty..."

"Which would give my littlest cousin the perfect chance." Kili added for good measure.

"Alright!" Gimli called loudly. "Lets do this!"

It was decided then. The combined armies of Gondor, Rohan, Erebor, Mirkwood, Dale as well a number of the best warriors from the Dúnedain tribe and Rivendell would be marching on the Black Gates, the time had come for the war against Sauron to end.

**xXx**

Many words were exchanged among the members of the multi-race army as they marched on their ways to Morannon, before the Black Gates of Mordor; especially between the leaders of said army, and the other remaining members of the Fellowship, and also of the old Company (of the Quest for Erebor) who marched with them.

They spoke of the many dwarven corpses the Fellowship had found deep in the Mines of Moria, including Balin in his tomb, and Ori, still holding his records, a Royal Scribe to the end... That part in particular had drawn a sharp breath from one dwarf, even as his One moved to offer what support he could.

"Nori..." Dwalin whispered quietly.

"It's ok, I'm ok." Nori lied, though he knew they all could tell. "I'm sure he's happy now, back with Tilda, where he belongs... we all know he never got over the death of his One. Much as we all knew from the very beginning they wouldn't get long. Fifty years was much too short a time, for all of us, but especially for them."

"Aye." Dwalin agreed. "The lass was such a bright jewel, at times I forgot she was human, that we would lose her so fast..." He shook his head. "You know that's why he chose to join Balin and Óin in Moria in the end, he could no longer be in Dale or Erebor, not without her... even the children weren't enough to get him out of his depression for long..."

"The kids..." Nori moaned. "How am I supposed to explain to them that Ori is gone? Sigrid is barely of-age, Blator not even that!"

"Sigrid is more woman than dwarrowdam, and an adult in her own right." His One reminded him. "And even if we can consider Blator quite young still at 31... he's not alone. He still has his older sisters, and he has you, and me of course, not to consider his uncle, cousins and everyone else in our insane extended family. If the lad ever needs someone, we'll be there. Just like Dori and you were there for Ori when your own parents passed."

It took some effort, but eventually Nori nodded. It was probably a good thing that no one had considered asking for news when they were still in Minas Tirith... at the same time, Nori thought that at least Aska wouldn't be surprised, she'd always been quite intuitive, and on the very day when Ori had left he'd heard the words she'd whispered to the wind, thinking no one could hear her. She'd said goodbye to her father, in the most archaic of manners, in Ancient khuzdul, a goodbye that wasn't meant for a relative going away for a while, but a permanent separation; she'd known even back then that she'd never see her father again.

"With all due respect." Éomer called quietly as he approached the group. "What makes you say that your friends would have met after death? If I understood correctly, they weren't from the same race... I thought each race had a separate fate after death."

For several seconds no one answered, though a number of people turned to look at each other, as if trying to decide who should explain that part.

"That's true for the most part." Tauriel chose to be the one in the end. "There's only one exception that we know of. There are vows, a set of wedding vows, to be precise. They create a bond that goes beyond anything, it goes beyond the marriage contracts some races use, and even the basic rituals those that truly love each other are willing to perform. It's a bond of the souls, so tight that even death cannot separate them. When, eventually, both have passed, one will follow the other in the afterlife."

"Is that true?" Éomer couldn't wrap his head around the concept. "Such vows cannot be common, I don't think. Then how...?"

"They're an ancient tradition from Valinor." Gandalf stated. "Few bonds have ever formed using those vows on this side of the Belegaer Sea. However, due to how tight the bonds formed by those vows are, they are perfect for interspecies-couples. It's been used by couples in ancient times like Melian the Maia and Elu Thingol, Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Erchamion, possibly even Idril and Tuor... and in more recent times, Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins, Kili son of Vili and Tauriel daughter of Dirhael, Lady Tilda of Dale and Ori Royal Scribe of Erebor..."

And, Valar willing, one day Aragorn and Arwen just might join that list.

**xXx**

It took several days, but shortly after Spring fully hit the land, the army arrived to the Morannon, where they camped for a night before taking the battle to the Black Gates. It wasn't easy, and more than one soldier was filled with dark thoughts of hopelessness and despair. Even though they'd all been volunteers, and had marched on that battle knowing fully well what could happen, it wasn't easy to stand where they were.

In the end, it was Aragorn who broke the uneasy silence, moving forward in his horse and finally fully embracing his heritage. As he stood flanked by a prince of Dale (and his own cousin and Herald), the King and Queen of Erebor, the prince of Mirkwood, the Lords of Imladris, the (unofficial) King of Rohan, the White Wizard and what remained of their Fellowship.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" He could loudly. "Let justice be done upon him!"

At first it seemed like nothing would happen, and then the gates opened. Not much, just enough for one armored horse and its rider: a horrible, disgusting-looking creature covered in equally dark armor, too-wide mouth full of yellow teeth.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome." He rasped out in a very self-important tone. "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

Kili bristled, but his wife, astride the same horse as him, placed a pacifying hand on his arm.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed." Gandalf stated strongly. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

"Old Greybeard." The Mouth of Sauron sneered. "I have a token I was bidden to show thee..."

When the mithril coat was pulled out the reaction was instantaneous, cries for Frodo came out of the mouths of the two hobbits ridding with Gandalf and Éomer, followed by vicious cursing in Westron, Sindarin and Khuzdul from almost everyone else present; and no matter how much Gandalf repeated for them to quiet down, it was useless.

"The Halfling was dear to thee, I see." The dark messenger smirked. "Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf. He did."

Aragorn bristled with the almost imperious need to do something to avenge Frodo, eve as he refused to believe it was all lost. After all, the messenger had only mentioned one hobbit, not two, and it was like Legolas had said back in Minas Tirith... if Sauron had the Ring all of Arda would know it already, the Dark Lord wouldn't have waited to make it known.

The Mouth of Sauron turned his attention on him then, and the to-be King of Gondor was almost sure he would be mocked at any moment... except what came next wasn't that at all. No, instead it was the fall of the dead messenger, victim of several arrows and at least two throwing knives.

"Our prince is half of nothing." Gimli hissed at the dead messenger. "No hobbit is."

Merry and Pippin just smiled thankfully at the dwarf, even as Pippin kept tight hold over the mithril shirt the Mouth of Sauron had thrown at Gandalf.

"I guess that concludes the negotiations." Legolas drawled, smirking at his dwarven friend.

Aragorn knew without a doubt one of the knives had to be Gimli's. The archers were obvious enough, their bows still in hand: Legolas, Elladan, King Kili... though it was the origin of the other throwing knife that surprised him: Queen Tauriel. Then again, in hindsight, it probably should have been no surprise; with her position it would have been a bit hard to draw and fire a bow, knives were easier, and he was almost sure he heard her whisper something under her breath about having years of practice...

"I do not believe it." The Ranger stated eventually, turning to face his companions. "I will not."

"I agree." Kili stated. "We know Frodo... most of us at least. He's not the kind to be taken down easily... much as Uncle Bilbo really. He's still in there, still fighting..."

"And he still needs his chance to finish this." His wife added for good measure.

Everyone nodded, morale rising just enough for them to focus again.

And then it happened, the Eye turned its gaze fully in their direction, as the Black Gates opened fully and an army the likes of which none of them had ever seen, not even in Pelennor, began marching out. The leaders hurried back to their forces.

"Hold your ground!" Aragorn called loudly the moment he noticed the uneasiness in the warriors behind him. "Hold your ground."

The soldiers turned to stare at him as he spoke, even some of the elves and dwarves, there was so much fear and uncertainty written on their faces... and Aragorn wanted to wipe it all away, if only he could think of the right way to do such a thing... And then he remembered something, a conversation that had taken place what felt like so long ago, on a cooling evening, in Rivendell:

_It had been late November, winter just beginning to settle in the land. The Fellowship had been formed for a while and that day had been spent in the exact same way as every other since: with the experienced warriors practicing their abilities and at the same time doing their best to teach the hobbits to defend themselves. _

_They'd mostly finished for the day. Merry and Pippin were sitting next to each other, their focus more on their joking than on following Boromir's instruction on how to keep their blades sharp. Sam himself was paying attention, though the doubtful looks he kept throwing at his own blade showed how much he didn't like it. Frodo was the only one completely at ease, methodically working on the knife one of his uncles had given him, to replace the one lost in Amon Sûl; he also had a short sword, Bilbo's legendary Sting (the Bane of Spiders, according to some stories), but that one was elven and thus did not require much maintenance at all. _

_The Dúnadan was still watching them when he noticed from the corner of his eye as the former King of Erebor, and one of Frodo's uncles: Thorin Oakenshield, approached. _

"_You fear for them." The dwarf said upon joining Aragorn on the viewing deck. "You doubt them, their right to be on this Quest." _

"_Wouldn't you?" Aragorn asked quietly. "Just look at them." _

"_I am." Thorin assured him. "And while I can see and understand where your fear comes from, I disagree with your doubts." _

"_Would you take them on a quest such as this?" The Ranger turned fully to him, trying to understand what was going through the dwarf's mind. _

"_I already have." Oakenshield told him quietly. "My own nephews weren't much older than Merry and Pippin when they joined our own quest, over sixty years ago... same as Ori. And while at least Fili and Kili had some training in battle, Ori had been so sheltered by his eldest brother Dori that he had no experience. And what could I tell you about Bilbo? He hadn't the slightest idea of the world beyond the Shire's borders and the pages of his books!" He shook his head. "And yet, they proved themselves, just like I knew they would." _

"_And how did you know they would?" _

"_Because they had the only things that truly mattered in the end: Loyalty, Honor and a Willing Heart... who could ever ask for more than that?" _

Aragorn remembered those words in that moment, and as he did, he suddenly knew what to say:

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, and of all Kingdoms far in the north and the east, my brothers and sisters in arms." He called, loud enough to be heard by all. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of all races fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the World comes crashing down. But it is not this day. This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Free Peoples of Middle Earth!"

Speech finished Aragorn jumped off his horse, sending it away from the battle to begin, same did his friends, as they all got ready for the battle to begin.

"That was some speech, little brother." Elladan commented with a smile.

"Very inspiring, if I do say so myself." Elrohir agreed with a nod.

"Do you really believe in what you just said?" His foster-father asked, probably not because he had any doubts himself, he just wanted to know what Aragorn was really thinking.

"Honestly? I do." Aragorn answered with the barest hint of a smile. "I know it sounds impossible. And I realize this battle won't be won without a heavy price being paid... but I honestly believe we can and will win." He turned his eyes to the northeast before adding. "It's like King Thorin once said, we have everything that's really needed: Loyalty..."

"Honor and a Willing Heart." Kili, Tauriel, Gimli, Legolas, Halbarad finished in chorus.

Aragorn smiled, unsheathing his word and turning to the coming enemies:

"For Frodo..." The murmur was taken and repeated throughout the army like the quietest, yet strongest of battle cries.

And so, the greatest battle for the Freedom of Middle Earth began...

* * *

><p>Hope you all liked the chapter. This was one of the things I had in mind from the start. I know others have done it before, having armies from Erebor involved in the War of the Ring; though mostly that is because the War happens shortly after the Quest. This time the time passed just the same as in cannon, but the connection is there. Frodo is the connection, and so there they are.<p>

I did not write the battle itself, and I won't, because it's not really important. The basic are the same (and I promise you, none of our favorite characters die (For book fans, Halbarad doesn't die either... I happen to like him... at least this incarnation of him).

Tell me if you want to see anything special, we have but three more parts to go and I'm almost finished with the second to last, so time for requests is running out.

Next week: Elrond is a Half-Elf, and he's always known what that meant, the good and the bad. It's all about the choices, between the mortal and the immortal. Choices that have taken his brother, that will take his daughter, and might one day give him back his wife...


	9. Peredhel

The gift of the Peredhel, the choice between mortal and immortal, could be a blessing as much as a curse, Elrond well knew that; though nothing could ever make the loss it brought any easier.

I'm warning you right now, that yet again I'm pulling things from the Silmarillion. It's not necessary for you to have read it, and I'm not going that deep into things; but still, I thought it should be mentioned.

Having said that, on with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>Peredhel <strong>

Elrond had been through a lot in his, admittedly, long life. He would even admit there were times when he wondered if his twin brother Elros hadn't had it right, live a mortal life (however long it might be compared with normal humans) and one day be able to rest. And yet, no matter how much grief his life might bring him, he would be the first to admit it was nothing compared to the great things he'd achieved in it, and all the joy that had been granted to him. Especially in his family: his three children: Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen; and his wife Celebrían (whom he would see again one day, he was sure).

It had all begun in the Havens of Sirion, in what had once been Beleriand. There he and his twin brother Elros had been born to Eärendil the Mariner, from the line of Finwë and Elwing the White, from the House of Dior, who inherited the Silmaril Beren recovered from Morgoth's crown, and which her own ancestor Lúthien wore to the day of her death. It was because of that very object that she'd been pursued by the Sons of Fëanor, slaying almost every inhabitant of the Havens and forcing Elwing to throw herself into the Sea in a desperate final attempt to protect her sons, as well as reach her husband, who'd been sailing even then.

Elrond never fully forgave Maglor and Maedhros for what his actions cost him and his brother. While the two Sons of Fëanor weren't cruel to the two elflings, the twins still knew that, but for them, they would still have their family, their people. Even then, neither Elrond nor Elros allowed those negative feelings to stop them from fighting for what was right, ever.

When the time came for the two to make their own choice, as Peredhil (half-elves), Elrond chose the life of the elves almost right away, even if he himself would never be able to specify what was that guided him then. He also never expected difference choices would bring a separation between Elros and his that would last to the end of time...

He respected Elros, his choice to live as a mortal man, and the many things he achieved as first King of the Númenor, it still weighed heavy on his heart that his twin, the one person he'd been able to count on for many years (since the loss of their mother) would no longer be by his side. It was a loss that was never fully erased, though his match, his beloved Celebrían of Lórien helped greatly, bringing a light into his life from the moment he met her, to the day he lost her (though her, at least, he would be reunited with one day).

Were anyone to ask, Elrond would say he did not have many good memories of his youth, the years between the loss of his parents and his first home, and the time when Elros and his were old enough to leave their 'caretakers' behind and go live in Lindon. Though every good memory had always one person: his brother Elros, and many times one other: Minuialwen.

She was a tall platinum-blonde lady with eyes of the lightest blue, in a royal-blue dress, off-white leggings underneath and a cloak of sturdy fabric in the same shade of blue; with leather boots to complete the ensemble. She was beautiful, and kind, and sometimes the brothers thought she looked too much like a noble to be a servant to the Sons of Fëanor.

As it turned out, they were at least partly right. She hadn't been born to be a servant, but was one by choice, and she left the post the same day Elrond and Elros chose to leave for Lindon, going with them and even staying for a short time. It was then that the brothers found out the truth about the kindest of their caretakers.

"The Sons of Fëanor gave me the name of Minuialwen." She told them. "For they found me in the dawn, following the battle of Doriath, years before the attack in the Havens. I had nothing except the tattered dress I was in and a rather hard blow to my head made it so I couldn't string a sentence right for a while. It was assumed that I was from Doriath, but no one knew for sure; I couldn't explain things properly at first, and once I did I chose to keep my silence, for it was better that way. It was one thing to be seen as the somewhat disabled survivor of a terrible battle; someone they chose to show 'mercy' to by making her their servant. Had they found out I was the one responsible for the escape of Elwing, and with her the Silmaril they so insistently sought... things might not have been good..."

"You're the one who saved Naneth..." The twins breathed out in sync.

"But then that would make you..." It was Elros who first connected her to the stories their mother had once told.

"Eleana, daughter of the stars." She introduced herself formally.

Elrond and his brothers had known all about the Messenger of the Stars, the lady who was considered as good as a Maia, protege of the High Queen of the Valar, who out of friendship of a individuals like Melian the Maia and Alatariel had chosen to cross into Arda after the massacre of the Teleri, many years before. The same Eleana who'd sworn after Lúthien's passing to look after her son, and his children, for as long as she walked the earth. And she had, she had been there for Lúthien when no one else understood her love for a mortal man, and when Thingol had issued his impossible test she was one of two people that had gone to her and Beren's aid (the other being Finrod Felagund), she was the reason Elwing managed to escape the destruction of Doriath when everyone else in her family had been killed, and she was there for Elros and Elrond when they had no one else.

She stayed with the twins for a number of years while they lived in Lindon, even afterwards returning to visit them quite often. Until the day came when their choices were made, Elrond remained as he was and entered the service of Gil-Galad, King of the Noldorin, while Elros became known as Tar-Myniatur and became the first crowned King of Númenor.

Something happened shortly afterwards, which caused Eleana to pull herself away from the brothers for years, choosing instead to travel across Arda again. Elrond and her would not meet again until the funeral of Elros, she arrived dressed fully in white, with her feet bare, in a way Elrond hadn't seen her since their carefree days in Lindon, carrying a garland of alfirin which almost glowed with magic, which she laid on the marker of the grave (later Elrond would learnt that the flowers carried Eleana's blessing, from the gifts given to her by the Valar, and as such would never wilt. And in fact, they remained in perfect bloom until the day Númenor returned to the depths of the sea).

Even that day Eleana didn't stay long. Though she didn't distance herself as much anymore. They met more often as Elrond was sent to Eregion, as Gil-Galad's lieutenant (she'd been there already, helping as much as she could with the growing war against Sauron). Upon Celebrimor's (ruler of Eregion) death and Elrond's founding of Rivendell, Eleana had gone with him, where she stayed until Sauron was forced to pull back and the state of war lessened.

The Fall of Númenor was something that would probably always pain Elrond, much as he'd known it was coming for a while. Ever since the first King began turning against the Valar and the elves... until the day when the island was returned to the sea and the survivors sailed to Aman as royals in exile to create new Kingdoms. And so Gondor and Arnor came to be.

And then came Sauron's new attack and the War of the Last Alliance. And nothing was ever the same again after that.

**xXx**

Many years passed, and many things happened, and Eleana became a welcome if infrequent visitor in Imladris. She was there to see Elrond marry Celebrían, utterly delighted at the union of two families she'd so loved and guarded; she was also there to bless Elrohir and Elladan upon their first year, same as Arwen. And Elrond would never forget that she was there for Celebrían, when no one else could be, and were it not for her Elrond would have lost his beloved wife to death rather to a ship gone west; on the latter at least he knew for sure he would see her one day again, when the elves tired of Middle-Earth and chose to leave the land for good and settle in Valinor, as it was always meant to be.

Elrond was also quite sure Eleana was the reason why Olórin, who changed his name to Gandalf the Grey, though the elves favored calling him Mithrandir, arrived over a thousand years before any of the other Ístari, and why he was so much more willing to get to know all the races of Middle-Earth and help everyone who lived in the light (unlike some of the others who either preferred nature itself or simply seemed to consider themselves above most races). There was a reason why some of them called her Cundoheri (Guardian-Lady). Then the White Council was formed by the Ístari, Eleana, Galadriel and Elrond himself, and all of them together took to watching over Arda.

The last conversation Elrond had with Eleana took place in Rivendell, shortly after dawn on the day after Midsummer's Eve, right as half the household was going crazy trying to find one halfling and thirteen dwarves that were long gone (and Elrond is quite sure Gandalf helped make sure they would be gone before anyone could stop them).

Elrond had just sent Lindir and a number of his best and fastest riders, on Saruman's insistence (much as he suspected it would be pointless), he was standing by the window of his private office when he sensed a presence join him, the same he'd felt earlier, in the gazebo where the White Council (or those who still tried) had gathered.

"Why?" She asked without preamble, even as she stepped from behind the waving curtains of the nearby balcony (through which she'd entered... probably, he never understood quite how she did a lot of the things she did).

"Why I sent Lindir and the riders after the dwarves even though I'm quite sure they'll take a road that horses could never reach?" Elrond began 'guessing' at questions she might be making. "Why I chose not to go myself on a useless quest? Why I'm even trying to stop them, going against Mithrandir's own intentions in this?"

"The first is quite obvious, you're giving Saruman what he wants, even though you know it's useless." Eleana began answering the questions herself. "You're not going yourself precisely because you know there's no point. And I don't think it's about going against Gandalf at all, you're not that petty Elrond..." She made a pause before adding. "That wasn't what I meant anyway... I have never known you to be blind, Elrond, willfully or otherwise so, do you want to tell me why you're in such denial about the Morgul-blade and Gandalf's suspicions regarding Dol Guldur and the Necromancer?"

"So he's right then?" Elrond asked, turning to face her.

"That's not what I said." She replied evenly.

Nor had she said the opposite, and Elrond had known her long enough both to realize that, and to know that she wouldn't be giving him an answer... also that she wouldn't give up until he had given her the answer she sought (and which, all things considered, she probably knew already, yet she would make him say it anyway).

"Remember the Last Alliance?" It was a rhetorical question really, and they both knew it. "The last battle against Sauron, where Elendil fell and with the broken piece of his father's blade Isildur cut off Sauron's fingers, taking the Ring, and in consequence his power, from him?"

"I remember." Eleana nodded anyway. "We were both there."

"Indeed we were." Elrond nodded. "And while you stayed to save all those who still had any hope of surviving the battle, I followed Isildur to the Orodruin, where Sauron's Ring ought to have been destroyed... and instead Isildur claimed it as the spoils of war, intending to make it an heirloom of his people..." He let out a sigh, closing his eyes at the painful memories. "I should have stopped him then, should have insisted he destroy the ring, should have..."

"You could not have forced him to do anything he did not want, Nercë (little one)..." It was odd, how Eleana would slip back into quenya and the endearments she had once called him by, and Elrond didn't really mind, though he wasn't truly little, and hadn't been for many a year.

"You know..." He hesitated for a moment before finally admitting what he knew she was waiting for him to say. "I was there... Whenever it comes up in a conversation I say I was there the day the strength of men failed... but it wasn't just the strength of men, it was also my own. For I allowed Isildur to walk out of that place with the Ring, to call it his, even when deep in my heart I knew it was not a good idea. It was created by Sauron, and he'd already destroyed so much. How could anything forged by him bring anything but darkness to anyone?"

"You knew not the power the ring truly held, none of us did." Eleana reminded him quietly. "And even if we had... the decision was not yours to make, Elrond, it never was."

"What do you know of it?" Elrond blurted out, eyes narrowing.

"Not all Marked One's have obvious Fates, and not all succeed when tests are put before them." Eleana said in a cryptic tone. "Sometimes their failure makes necessary for other Fates to be woven, sometimes from their failure can come the success of another. Even with all my gifts I will never know every single thread in Lady Vairë's great Tapestry, nor would I want to."

"You believe another will be Fated to destroy the Ring one day." Elrond guessed. "Which would mean that it exists even now and will be found one day... and if the Ring has endured, and its power, that would also mean that Sauron himself has endured... making Gandalf's theory about Dol Guldur and the Necromancer not only possible but even likely."

Eleana did not answer, she did not need to. She'd been right when she said Elrond had never been blind (though his own misplaced guilt pushed him into denial every now and then... like with his own daughter and her choice for a match...).

"Saruman will not change his mind." He pointed out next.

"He doesn't need to." Eleana answered with a minuscule shrug. "Fate has already been set into motion. What shall be will be, nothing can stop it anymore..."

...Nothing could have ever stopped it.

"Do you ever wonder about could-have-beens?" Elrond asked in a quite unexpected non-sequitur.

"What could have been?" Eleana repeated, completely blindsided (probably for the first time ever) by Elrond's words.

"If you had accepted when Elros asked for your hand in marriage?" Elrond finishes.

Had Eleana been any other woman she would have coughed, spluttered and probably blushed red to the roots of her fair hair... as it was, she only closed her eyes briefly and let out a heavy sigh.

"You know such a thing was never possible, Elrond..." Eleana said in what her once-charge would almost call a pained-tone.

"That's one thing I never understood, and you never wanted to talk to me about." The Lord of Imladris commented softly. "I know it wasn't lack of love, for you certainly loved him. Even if I never heard you say it, I was there the day you placed that garland on his grave..."

The moonlight-haired she-elf lets out a sigh before gracefully allowing herself to fall into a chair; keeping her silence until Elrond is sitting beside her.

"I will never understand how Elros ever came to love me, and as much as his own pain at my denial hurt me as well, it was never meant to be." She said softly. "I have a destiny Elrond, a duty to Arda and to my lords and ladies in Valinor... and as much as I might have cared for Elros, as a part of me might still care... we were never meant to be. I would never forsake my destiny for love, even the love of one such as Elros, and he knew that as well as I. He also knew I was never meant to be his match."

"He named his daughter Tindomiel..." He reminder her.

"I know..." It was all she said.

She'd known, of course. Even though she'd stayed away from Númenor after the coronation of Elros as Tar-Minyatur, when he first married a kind lady of a good family, and the birth of his son, his heir... but when his second child was born a daughter, and letters were sent to almost every corner of Arda, looking for her, asking for her blessing for the little princess, Eleana just couldn't say no. And then to learn that the newborn princess had been name Tindomiel by her father, 'daughter of the dawn'... just like Eleana herself had once been Minuialwen (the Dawn). It was the last time she set foot in the island until the funeral of Elros.

"Was it worth it?" Elrond asked her. "Giving up love for your destiny?"

"That question doesn't actually work, not with me." Eleana pointed out. "I'm not like you, mellon nîn (friend mine). I was not born, like the rest of Eru's children, both mortal and immortal. I am more like the Maiar in the same that I was embodied and even then, I wasn't always a true living being, I was a star. I have no match, no love... for all we know I would have never been able to give Elrond the heirs he needed for his throne."

"We would have still chosen you. And how can you say you have no love for him? I know for a fact that you did love him."

"Of course I loved him! Like I love you, Nercë, like I loved your mother Elwing, and Lúthien, and Alatariel... and everyone else I've had the chance to know and care for in my long life..."

Elrond did not agree, he was convinced, and had been for many years, that Eleana had loved his brother in a different way than anyone else, she probably still did; it made him wonder what her destiny might be to make her pass on something like that, for he knew Elros would have loved her completely and irrevocably.

"The world has changed..." Eleana said in elvish without preamble. "And will change much more still. Much that once was, has been gone for so long, with none to remember, none to be able to know the truths from the lies, the history from myths and legends... but that will soon change too. The time will come when darkness will rise again, and with it a light to fight it."

"There are not enough elves left on this side of the sea to wage another war against Sauron and Mordor." Elrond told her. "Too many have left in the years since the last one, and even more will leave in the years to come."

"While I dearly hope the elves will lend their aid in both battle, and healing as well as their own knowledge in the time to come. I know that the next Age will not belong to the firstborn, but to the races of the secondborn, the mortals. Their time will come, and they will prove themselves worthy heirs of Arda."

"They will need a King, Isildur's line has long since been lost."

"It hasn't, and you know that as well as I Elrond..."

"Gilraen's and Arathorn's child... Estel..."

"Quite the appropriate name, for hope is indeed what he shall bring to his people, and to all Men when his time comes."

"He's young and impetuous still."

"Indeed, but he shall not be like that forever. You must teach him, mellon nîn, guide him. One day Estel shall be Aragorn, as he's always been meant to, and he will be the stone upon which a new lineage of men, a new dawn of their race, will be built." She made a pause before adding. "I believe he will be a worthy holder of the blood of Elros and his lineage..."

And for that, if for nothing else, Elrond would make sure to help him.

The old friends talked long into the morning, through lunch and even after the sun had set; of any and every topic that came to mind. It occurred to Elrond at one point that Eleana had never been so candid or so honest with him; and yet it did not occur to him to wonder the reason for any of it. Not until late at night, with the stars shining high in the sky, when the two found nothing else to speak of and then Eleana approached her dear friend and once ward, whispered a prayer in a language so old (older than Quenya even) that Elrond does not know it, though he can sense the blessings every word carries, and then he feels the kiss on his brow. Elrond gets a heady feeling at it all, but cannot explain it.

"Namarië, child of my heart." She whispered, shifting to Quenya. "May the stars forever shine in your eyes, the sun warm your skin and the moon light your path..."

It's until after Eleana has left (not just the veranda where they talked, but Imladris as a whole) that Elrond realizes what the odd feeling was... she was saying goodbye...

One morning at the start of winter, just after Samhain, Elrond could feel it, the moment when one life was lost and, that same night, a new star lit up in the sky.

**xXx**

Many years passed. Elrond focused on his duty as Lord of Imladris, aid of the Dúnedain, and all those who might look for protection in his lands. He also did his best to fulfill the silent promise he'd made upon Eleana's passing, to be a worthy Guardian, watch over the elves and Middle-Earth in general until Sauron was vanquished for good (and he knew the day would come).

He'd also done his best to guide Estel, help him become the man Eleana had envisioned him as, and made Elrond envision in turn. A worthy heir of Elros's, his dear brother's, lineage. Beyond the strength of will of Elendil and the weakness of Isildur, beyond the darkness of the Kings who fell to the Rings of Powers and the kings-in-exile who'd wandered the north for so many years. He knew not everyone saw it like that; his daughter in particular believed him to be too harsh, that it was his way of showing his disapproval for her choice, giving seemingly impossible tasks to Aragorn, keeping him away from her. Yet it wasn't so, Elrond wouldn't deny it saddened him to know that his daughter would one day be lost to him, to the end of time; but she was an adult, one who knew her own mind and heart, and he accepted that. It was why, regardless of how much it pained him, when the time came and Aragorn had taken his rightful place, Elrond would place Arwen's hand in his and give them his blessing.

As it turned out, that day wasn't as far away as Elrond might have thought at some point, as he grudgingly acknowledged in the aftermath of a Council in the fall of 3018 while in conversation with Gandalf.

"Eleana knew it would be him to earn back the throne of Gondor." He told the wizard. "Even if she never said the exact words, the implications were clear the moment she compared Estel with Elros... never before had she compared any from his line with my brother, not even Elendil and she held the old King in high esteem all his life."

The Grey Wizard nodded in complete agreement.

"She imparted much wisdom in the final conversations she held with each of us, I think." The Ístari commented. "Even if we are less used to understanding her cryptic ways than others."

Than Galadriel, he meant, of course. Then again, no one on their side of the Belegaer had known Eleana Cundoheri for as long as Galadriel (before called Alatariel) had; so it probably wasn't that surprising that the Lady of Lothlórien would understand the Gift of the Stars, better than any other ever had. Still, they would all do their best.

"Of all the talks I had with her in the many years I had the honor of calling her my friend, only once she said more than a handful of cleverly twisted words regarding her destiny in this world." Gandalf declared quietly. "It was during the war against Sauron, a few years before he lost the Ring. It was then that she told me she truly was Cundoheri, and as such guardian of all living beings in Arda, but especially the Marked Ones; a duty given to her by Lady Varda and Lady Vairë themselves. It was there that she also warned me of the End, though I did not know enough to see the warning for what it was at the time. Eleana told me that one day she would have to choose, she would tear down the Tapestry of one of the Marked Ones; she would choose one among them all in hopes that he or she would tip the balance for good, allow the light to triumph over the darkness for good... You know what I thought?" He let out a sigh, turning eyes to the sky even as he answered his own question. "I thought it was ludicrous. How could Eleana, wise as she always was, ever hope that someone, anyone, after being freed from their Valar-given-Fate, rather than running away, would choose to stay, of their own free will; stay and fight to possibly save the world? Who, either mortal or immortal could ever be hoped to be willing to endure trials and grief and pain when they didn't have to? I've known a great many people in my life, long as it's been, many remarkable individuals even; yet I'd never known any brave and selfless enough... or perhaps I ought to have seen them as foolish, to ever do something like that..."

"And have you changed your mind since?" Elrond asked the wizard, interested.

"How could I not?" Mithrandir asked in an almost helpless tone. "You saw the same thing I did today..." He shook his head. "I thought that what I'd seen sixty-one years ago, when Bilbo so selflessly chose to go to Ravenhill, to warn the dwarves, to try and save their lives, I saw that as an act of extraordinary valor... and then when both he and Thorin were willing to sacrifice a part of themselves and the love they'd just found, to separate so soon after their match for Bilbo to be where he would be needed. Where Fate had decreed he needed to be, even after it had released him. Bilbo and Thorin made their choice... and it allowed for Frodo to be who he is today. And not just him, Gimli and Legolas as well, and the other hobbits, and even Aragorn, and the things they may yet teach Boromir..."

Elrond knew he was right. None of the members of the Fellowship were who they would have been if Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield had chosen differently in the aftermath of the Quest for Erebor and the Battle of Five Armies... or if Eleana Cundoheri had done anything different either. Maybe, just maybe, his old friend's (and once caretaker) hope would be realized; maybe darkness would finally be vanquished and Arda would exist in true light.

**xXx**

Elrond was no fool, he'd known all along that his daughter had in her possession a scroll with the Vows, the ancient spell that would bind two souls in such a way not even death could pry them apart. And while he knew that some saw his insistence on Arwen getting on a ship to Aman as either rejection of Aragorn or denial over his daughter's choice, the truth was much different. It wasn't that he did not approve... how could he not? He'd known Aragorn for almost all of his life and knew exactly the kind of man he was, and that few men could hope to be worthier of a princess of Arwen's lineage than he was (then again, he was a father, and no father ever thought any suitor good enough for their daughter). And it was not denial, as much as it hurt him to know he would be losing his daughter to a fate the Eldar like him would never know; it was her choice, and he respected that. The true reason why he was so insistent was that he wanted her to be sure. For while there was life in Arwen's future (a son, and daughters, at least three daughters, all as beautiful as their mother); there would also be death, and grief, and Elrond wanted Arwen to be ready for the bad as much as she would be for the good. Because he would not be there for his daughter when she had to go through it all, he had to prepare her beforehand.

It was also why, when the time came, when he saw the three armies of Rhovanion marching by his lands, he was ready. He knew where they were going, and the kind of battle they would be involved in. And while Elrond would never allow his daughter to be in such danger, he knew that where there was war there were injured, Arwen was his best apprentice when it came to healing, she would do well helping the injured men in Gondor. It also helped that he knew another healer was traveling with the group already: Lady Sigrid II, daughter of Ori and Tilda, from Dale.

Of course Arwen was all but ready the moment Elrond told her the plan; as ready as the tins were to do battle themselves, and the Dúnedain they and Halbarad (who'd been Lord of Dale before leaving Esgaroth to join the Rangers) had managed to call to arms.

They made good time to Gondor, arriving right as plans were being made for a stand at the Black Gates. And while Elrond would never admit it out-loud, he was honestly amazed at how far the young hobbit had gotten (it seemed the Perian -halflings- would never stop surprising him). The moment the planning was finished and preparations began, Arwen and Sigrid took their leave and went directly to the Houses of Healing to begin working, and the Lord of Imladris decided to go with them and do what he could before leaving fo Mordor the ext morning.

By the time the three arrived people were already whispering about 'the hands of the king are hands that heal'... apparently Aragorn had been doing some healing of his own, and the people were growing to love him for it already... just like Aragorn knew they'd come to love their future Queen as well.

The march to the Black Gates of Mordor was long, and at the same time not at all. It also served to remind Elrond of another march that had taken place many years before, an Age even... the march of the Last Alliance, also against Sauron and Mordor. He'd always found it interesting, how quick to forget most races were. Everyone called that the Last Alliance of Elves and Men... and yet those weren't the only races to fight, no, many other creatures had been there: Ents, Eagles... and dwarrows, lead by one of the incarnations of Durin the Deathless. And there they were again; men and elves and dwarves (and two shirelings and a wizard) marching together to war; even before considering that the armies of men and elves were comprised by warriors of completely different kingdoms, from distant corners of Middle Earth, it was an astounding allegiance... and all for one single individual: Frodo Baggins.

"Did you know this, Minuialwen?" The elven lord asked to the night-sky, one of nights during their trip. "When you chose to tear Thorin Oakenshield's Tapestry, after his ow destiny had been fulfilled, and in doing so changed Bilbo Baggin's irremediably as well... did you know what they would do? All the changes it would bring? What it would mean for all of Arda?"

And while Elrond knew that Eleana had been very gifted, so much that she could know a great many things of one person simply by looking at them; he didn't think she'd known how exactly things would go. She'd hoped, and that hope had been rewarded, by both Bilbo and Thorin, many times over. And there they where, about to face Sauron, hopefully for the last time.

The battle was long and exhausting. After the first few minutes Elrond stopped focusing too much on each movement of his own body and let his instincts take over, like he had many times before. A part of his awareness was still focused on his sons (all three of them), but he didn't allow any of them to distract him, trusting that they were all powerful warriors and perfectly capable of looking after themselves. Of course he was right.

And then it came, the shout from the hobbit:

"The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"

It was the beginning of the end of the battle, and of the war. With the Eagles of Manwë there, the flying Názgul stood no chance, and without their fear-inducing screeches, the armies of the Free Peoples of Arda fought all the harder. And then... a second of silence, absolute, heart-stopping silence, not even the wind blew for an everlasting moment and then, a huge explosion shook the earth. Barad-dur crumbled into dust, as did the Black Gates, and the very earth the dark armies walked upon gave beneath them, swallowing them whole. Elrond could almost believe that the Ainur themselves had a hand in that. Yet there was no time to focus on that, because then the Eagles were back, with Gandalf as well as two heavily injured and terribly malnourished hobbits, who returned victorious from their quest.

It took a while for the Ring-bearer (or Ring-bearers, since Sam too had bore the ring for a time, however short, while in Mordor) to recover, and they all knew that neither of them, but especially not Frodo, would ever recover fully. Yet the happiness was also there, the Ring had been destroyed, Sauron was vanquished, Middle-Earth was saved!

Upon their return to Gondor, talks began, about the things that had happened, those who'd died, and those who'd survived. One story in particular that circulated was about Aragorn's cousin and herald, who'd come to close to being slayed by a particularly nasty uruk-hai who approached him from his blind-spot, only to manage to move in the last moment, after being warned by a bird.

"It was not any bird, it was a thrush." Gimli explained simply.

The men just looked at the dwarf, realizing that probably sounded logical to him, but not to them, not at all. What would make any one bird more special than others? It still did not explain how one had warned the Ranger, or when a bunch of them began attacking several Harad (pretty much gouging their eyes out whenever possible).

"Thrushes have been allied with the Line of Girion for many a year." Halbarad finally explained. "Those of our bloodline can understand them. In this case it means Sigrid, her older sister, younger brother, my cousin Crown Prince Brand, his son Bard II, Uncle King Báin, and myself." He made a pause and then added. "The ravens also have a pact with Durin's line, the royal family of Erebor, and sometimes it may extend to others who hail from the Lonely Mountain."

Éomer just shook his head; he'd seen so much since first laying eyes on Aragorn and his two companions (whom he'd aptly named the Three Hunters): halflings, talking and walking trees, the heir to a bloodline believed lost, armies of elves and dwarves, the descendants of Númenor, a dwarven king married to a she-elf, he was sure nothing would surprise him anymore, and had said so, more than once.

News began coming then, about the other battles that had taken place. Elrond knew even before the raven arrived, that the news coming from Erebor would not be all good. While the battles near the borders of Lothlórien and Rivendell (he'd left Glorfindel and Erestor in charge) had been won relatively easy, the Battle of Dale had been another thing entirely.

"Kili?" Several voices began calling when they saw the dwarven king's hands slacken on the parchment delivered.

Kili did not answer, instead he just remained standing there, until his wife took the message from his hands and read it herself.

"Oh..." She gasped when realizing what had affected her husband so; then, in her most formal tone she announced. "Dwarrows of Erebor, People of Dale, I regret to be the bearer of bad news. As we all knew, an army of Easterlings was approaching Esgaroth at the time of our departure. A battle took place, and the victory was for the alliance... however, it was a costly victory. Many lives were lost, the complete list of names was not given. What I am to inform you now is the loss of Crown Prince Brand of Dale and Lord Dáin Ironfoot of the Iron Hills."

Loud calls from both the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor followed that announcement. Before some of them began praying for the loss of not only two of their royals, but anyone else who might have perished in the fight.

They were hard days, Elrond knew that, just like he knew they had the strength to get through it all and move on. After all, they had before. Regardless of any negative things he might think or say, men had always been extraordinarily enduring individuals... and so were hobbits, as they'd all seen firsthand. Watching Frodo walk and even smile again, after all the hardship and the pain (and even if he'd one finger less).

It took weeks, but eventually enough of Gondor and its citizens had been restored sufficiently to be ready to receive the King. He'd been walking among them for a while, yet it was until the White City was mostly recovered from the battle at Pelennor Fields, that Aragorn allowed the coronation to take place. Gandalf was chosen to place the crown on his head (in ancient times it would have been his predecessor, usually his father, but as the line of the Kings had been in exile for so long, Arathorn had passed away when Aragorn was but two, and Denethor was dead; other arrangements needed to be made), while Frodo was asked to be the one to carry it to the Ístari for the coronation itself.

"Now come the days of the King." Gandalf called formally as he placed the heavy, intricate crown on Aragorn's head. "May they be blessed."

"Hail Elessar Telcontar!" Frodo called the name Aragorn had chosen to be his royal one.

"Hail!" The people throughout the plaza called cheerfully.

"This day does not belong to one man but to all." The new King declared strongly. "Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace." His voice turned softer as he began singing in Quenya: "Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta. (Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.)"

And so it happened, like Eleana predicted (and like many others things he'd seen long before they came to pass), that Aragorn became Elessar, the elf-stone upon which the new royal bloodline of Gondor rose. Many would follow him, Elrond knew that well, he'd seen the boy, just like his daughter had, they were to be the start of a line of Kings that would see a new age on the world, the time of the elves was coming to an end, Arda would forever more be of the Secondborn. The time had come for the elves to sail to their Final Home...

But that day was not to be one of sadness, not at all. With the basic protocols seen to, the King Elessar began walking through the groups that had gathered to watch him be crowned. Conveying his gratitude for their presence, and for everything each of the had done to help in the War of the Ring (as the bards were beginning to call it). There were greetings to Éomer (fully acknowledged King of Rohan), his sister Princess Éowyn Názgul-Slayer, a legend in her own right and who'd recently become engaged to Lord Faramir (whom Elessar would later on be naming Steward as well as Prince of Ithilien); then came Lord Halbarad and his cousin Lady Sigrid of Dale, King Kili and Queen Tauriel of Erebor; Gimli, while also being of Erebor, stood close with his dear friend Legolas, who stood by his own people, the elves of Mirkwood; just like the twins, Elladan and Elrohir had chosen to stand with the Rangers.

Elrond himself stood almost at the end of the various groups of royals and Fellowship members. And once Elessar had reached him and given the customary nod of the head (a bow was not proper, as the man was King), the Lord of Imladris took the banner from his daughter's hands, allowing her form to be revealed for the second time. Unlike before in that moment she was dressed completely in white, the finest silks on her, and a mithril circlet that had once belonged to her mother placed on her head. She was the most perfect image of a bride on her wedding day... and that was exactly what she was, and what that day would be. He knew that very well as he placed his daughter's hand on Aragorn's; he'd known it would happen, ever since first laying eyes on those two together he'd seen it, that very moment...

All kingly-composure the newly named Elessar may have managed to hold onto tightly since the moment the crown was placed on his head was broken in an instant, as his mind processed the significance of his once foster-father placing Arwen's hand on his. He could only gather the beautiful she-elf in his arms and kiss her for all he was worth.

All was at it should be, as it was always meant to be.

* * *

><p>This piece gave me a hard time, I kept changing my mind on who should be the focus of it. In the end Elrond was convenient, to give another view of Aragorn's and Arwen's relationship, and bring up the comparisons of this new Alliance with the old one. Still, I will be the first to say that the whole ElrosEleana thing caught even me by surprise. It was so not in the plans until it was written. I like it, I think it gives new depth to her character, even if some might not consider it too important on the grand scheme of things.

Also, after writing the other scene of the White Council meeting in the Hobbit it just didn't feel right to call Elrond blind... so I turned it around here. And I got the chance to introduce another concept: the possibility of Marked Ones failing at their tests, their Fate... them being Fated for something doesn't mean they will do it right. I thought that was important to point out.

Finally, next week we'll give a basic closing to the story. Because all good things must come to an end (and I hope this has been good). A lot of change has been brought by Eleana's choice in Ravenhill; but there was maybe one thing that was never planned for. The hybrids, the children of mixed-races... especially those who might feel like they don't really belong in any race. As is the case of Stiarna Stareyes, the Archer, the Wanderer...

In any case, while that will mostly close the cycle, after that we will have one additional piece. The epilogue (wrap), so-to-speak. Because through it all I cannot believe I forgot one very important thing! (And if you can guess the focus of that piece I... well, I don't know what I'll give you, but I promise to think of something, so guess away please!)

P.S. There will be no AU anymore, I couldn't think of enough to make different so it's not worth it. I think.


	10. Stareyed Wanderer

Kili's and Tauriel's daughter had many names and many titles throughout her life, though there was one that captured the reality of her the most: her greatest strength... as well as her most terrible fear. She was the Wanderer...

I will admit to not being 100% convinced on how this turned out. At the same time, Stiarna's story needed to be told, and she was a good medium to tackle what happened after the War of the Ring. Hope you will like this.

* * *

><p><strong>Stareyed Wanderer <strong>

Stiarna was born the first child of Kili, son of Vili, sister-son of Thorin, King of Erebor, and his Queen, Tauriel, daughter of Dirhael, Peredhel and former Captain of the Guard of Mirkwood. She was born less than three years after the retaking of the Lonely Mountain and the wedding of her parents (though it was unheard for dwarrrows to have children so soon after getting married). Her hair was bright red and completely straight (it would darken, thicken and gain a measure of waves in the following years); though the one detail both of her parents focused on the moment she was born was her hazel eyes... and the light of the stars that shone in them.

Stiarna Stareyes, her father called her, though it would be many a year before the girl understood what it meant to have the light of the stars in her eyes.

She always knew her parents were very different. Not only in the simple terms of one being a dwarrow and the other a she-elf, the way Tauriel was taller, Kili broader, or any other line in the long list of differences. The girl herself had inherited her mother's eye-color, hair being just a shade or two darker, though as thick and wild as her father's; her skin was soft and unblemished, like her mother's, taking a golden hue at her continued exposure to the sun; she wasn't as tall as her mother, though taller than any other dwarrow, slimmer too; though her bones had proven to be as strong as any dwarf's (a number of accidents in her crazy youth had proven it). She also aged half as fast as a human, twice as fast as a dwarrow.

At first Stiarna used to believe that any particularities of her, were due to her mixed heritage. And then her brother was born. Fili II (named in honor of their father's brother, who'd died before either of them were born) had light brown hair, with a slight hint of their mother's auburn and while it lightened as he grew, it didn't actually become red, instead it gained a sort of golden hue... (like both the uncle and the grandfather the children never knew); his eyes blue, the shade some dwarrows called Durin-blue (same as their uncle Thorin, and apparently many of their ancestors in Durin's Line). Fili was smaller, broader, and considerably more hairy; many soon began saying that he was a proper dwarf, a true Son of Durin.

Stiarna never said it, but it became a source of distress for her. To hear others say that her brother was a proper dwarf; while she not only wasn't that, she also wasn't enough like her mother to be considered a proper elf, or a human... instead it was like she was balanced in between all three races, not truly belonging to any of them. So instead, she searched for another way to belong somewhere, anywhere.

Stiarna was almost fifteen years old (though she looked around seven), when her Adad (Dad) gave her her first bow. It was small, obviously meant for a child; but it wasn't like the toys human children sometimes used; it was well crafted, meant to take her strength (which was superior to that of a human or elven child... though not quite as much as a dwarfling would have had). She'd always been fascinated by her parents' ability with the bow, especially since they were the only archers in the Lonely Mountain. Stiarna knew the bow was supposed to be a toy, something for her to play with; and yet she soon realized one thing: she was good with it. After the third person (the first non-relative) told her she was exactly like her parents, after watching her shoot a number of arrows; the young half-dwarf decided that was exactly what she would do.

Years passed, and the young princess kept getting better with bow and arrow. She could also use small daggers, for close combat, and was quite decent at hand to hand (a mix odd of elven and dwarven styles that tended to confuse anyone sparring against her, which was all the more of an advantage to her). But that was about it where weapons were concerned; as most of those used by dwarrows were much too heavy for her, while the knives elves favored were simply too long for her to be maneuverable.

So Stiarna Stareyes grew up, she was the firstborn child of her parents, but not the one who would inherit the throne. Which was quite alright with her, as she couldn't begin to imagine being Queen of Erebor. But it was also another reminder that she just did not fit, that she wasn't enough of either race.

And then the War of the Ring came, and everything changed unexpectedly, in many ways. When the odd creature was captured and imprisoned in Mirkwood by a contingency of elves and dwarves Stiarna wanted to be part of the group. She liked the forest, and tended to slip there every once in a while, to train her marksmanship on the spiders still running around. But she'd been caught the last time she'd done such a thing, and was grounded, so she couldn't. Then, after the creature escaped and most of those who'd been on guard were killed, her parents were called for a meeting in the forest to discuss what had happened.

Months passed, and her Adad proposed that a part of the army, completely formed by volunteers, be assembled and marched South, to try and help Frodo with his quest. Stiarna loved Frodo, her littlest cousin (uncle, technically, but he was younger than her!). When she'd learnt about the Council in Rivendell, about the Quest, and Frodo's part in it as the Ringbearer, Stiarna had been half-horrified, half-envious. She knew it was absolutely insane, and it wasn't that she wished to be in Frodo's place, not really; but she did wish she could see the world beyond the borders of Esgaroth, that she could be more than just princess Stiarna Stareyes... who didn't look enough like any race, who just didn't really fit.

Upon her parents' departure, the throne fell once more upon her uncles: Thorin and Bilbo; though at the same time they became very dependent on Dís, and a bit on Stiarna herself, what with their increasingly deteriorating condition (they were quite old, and getting more than a little forgetful, even if most chose not to talk about it). Usually it wouldn't have mattered much, the dwarrows in Erebor loved the kingdom so much there was hardly any trouble. But an army was coming, tens of thousands of Easterlings marching to wage war upon them, and Esgaroth, that made things like a proper chain of command necessary.

Preparations for the coming battle began even before the three smaller armies left South, and continued afterwards. Stiarna tried several times to join the military leaders in their meetings, to become part of it, but she was refused. There were no more archers among the dwarves, and those from Mirkwood and Dale that might be around didn't know her, or trust her. Also, whenever most people looked at her, all they saw was the princess of Erebor. Had she been a 'true dwarrowdam' she would have been sent straight into the tunnels, considered too young (she wasn't even sixty yet); that was where her brother was, after all, and there wasn't that much of an age difference between them, though he did look much younger.

So, once more, Stiarna was left adrift, wandering through Erebor. Helping the human civilians get installed into the old refugee apartments, make sure the dwarrowdams and dwarflings were all safe as well, check over the armories, sometimes even act as messenger between the groups; yet not quite able to join any of them.

And then it all began. Stiarna was in the West sector (the one with the 'big people' apartments) when they all heard the sounds of battle starting. The children were absolutely terrified, and to try and help calm them down, the princess convinced a few of sitting around him as she began telling them the first story that came to mind. One story became two, and two became more, as she just kept telling them pieces of the Quest for Erebor, which had once been her favorite, and exactly how her Uncle Bilbo told the story. Soon enough all the children had settled down.

After what might have been a couple of hours one of the women approached her and began singing a song which the children soon joined in; Stiarna was just wondering why she'd done that when Aska (Oldest daughter of Ori and Tilda, Lady of Dale and Erebor) approached her.

"You're needed in the War Room." She told the princess quietly in khuzdul.

Stiarna would have asked if something had happened, but it was obvious enough. She arrived to the War Room to find two shrouded bodies; the reaction from certain specific people in the room soon told her who exactly laid there: Lord Dáin Ironfoot and Crown Prince Brand... Stiarna's mouth went dry abruptly. She knew the prince, how could she not? With their respective positions it was only to be expected. He was a good friend of hers. Ironically enough Brand was the only of his line to be no good with a bow; and while Stiarna was an archer, and quite proud of it, her own situation gave her a particular understanding of how it felt to not be what and how others believe you should. That had created a strong bond of friendship between the two. She'd been an honored guest at his wedding, and had been there to console him when his wife died in failed childbirth, along with their unborn daughter.

After a nod in the direction of her uncles and grandmother, Stiarna immediately rushed to where Prince Bard II was standing in a corner, seemingly shocked into absolute stillness. The lad was so young, a few months away from his 18th birthday, and he'd already lost his father... and she'd seen King Báin practically curled up in his own chair, pushed down by grief.

"Bard!" She called, hurrying to embrace the young man. "Oh Bard..."

She wouldn't ask him if he was alright, she wasn't the kind to ask stupid questions. Which really meant there wasn't much she could say, or do, other than stand there and try to offer some kind of comfort to her young friend.

"Stiarna..." He murmured, voice quiet, and expression so lost.

The auburn-haired half-dwarf hated seeing that expression on the face of a boy who was always so bright, so happy. It didn't seem right. She vowed to herself that she would find a way to make things right again. At the same time, a corner of her mind registered the fact that it was the first time he'd called her just by her given name. He'd always used her titles (Lady Stareyes, Princess Stiarna, etc.), seeing her with a bit too much wonder, as her father's friend and later own his own mentor (someone had to teach the boy how to use the bow, his father didn't know how and Báin claimed to be too old... and she'd liked it, teaching someone else her passion).

The following three days were a bit of a daze. With the Lonely Mountain under siege, and too many enemies at their doors to do anything.

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Stiarna cried out one day, pulling almost nervously at the braids in her hair (one for the Line of Durin, the second marking her status as princess, and the other for being considered off-age). "There must be a way we can break this Mahal-forsaken siege!"

"Strategically, the best way to do that would be by taking down the leaders of the army." Aska stated seriously. "Cut off the head of the snake, so-to-speak."

While at 47 some might consider Aska too young not to be with the other dwarflings, she wasn't just a dwarrowdam; she, like Stiarna, was only half-dwarf (her mother having been Lady Tilda of Dale, a human), and also like the Princess of Erebor, she was a perfect blend of races (though in her case they were only two). Aska had aged twice as fast as a dwarrow, allowing her to reach the 'age of majority' much faster than her little brother, or Stiarna's (though no faster than her own sister, Sigrid II, who'd been born and grown like a full mortal woman... though she'd probably live longer than most). There was one other reason why Aska was there, unlike her younger siblings, who'd each chosen to take the path of one of their parents; the half-dwarf was instead following in the footsteps of one of her uncles. Aska was a spy, and Nori's chosen successor to one day take over the spy-net in Erebor.

Stiarna, being part of the Line of Succession, but not meant to take the throne herself, had been coached to deal with the spies (something which her mother did usually, and her brother's consort would be doing one day). So, while the adults were all creating strategy after strategy (and scrapping them one after the other too), trying to find a way to take down the enemies. The girls tried to consider an alternate path to the same goal. Hence the whole 'cutting the head of the snake' metaphor.

"You mean like what was done during the Battle of Five Armies, in Ravenhill." Stiarna nodded.

"Exactly." Aska nodded (her position afforded her more knowledge over what had happened there than most people possessed). "Except, in the current situation, any assassin sent outside the mountain would be dead long before they made it to the generals..."

Stiarna had just begun nodding, mostly automatically, when something occurred to her.

"What if the assassins didn't have to leave the mountain?" She suggested suddenly.

Aska looked at her, confused. For all answer, Stiarna reached for the bow slung on her back (while she wasn't really part of the army, the situation they were in was stressful enough Stiarna couldn't help but feel a bit safer keeping her weapons on her at all times).

"Think it might work?" The princess asked the spy.

"I think it's the only logical plan anyone in this mountain has, it might as well be our only chance." Aska answered honestly. "Insane as it might be."

"You do realize we cannot tell anyone else about this, right?" Stiarna asked grimly. "We must handle it ourselves."

Aska grimaced but nodded. She understood, the plan was absolutely insane, the 'responsible adults' in their lives would never go for it. But it needed to be done, because Aska honestly had no idea how they were supposed to survive what was happening.

"If we're going to do this... then we need more archers." The spy decided. "Once the first arrow is fired we'll have but seconds to either end it all or die, and you alone won't be enough."

"Then lets go find us more archers." Stiarna agreed.

It wasn't easy, but they did find more archers. It was Bard who helped them, gathering a few of the men and elves who were amenable (and who agreed not to tell the other royals what the lasses were planning). The plan was pretty simple, all in all. Aska and a number of her most trusted spies (Nori had left her in charge when going with the volunteer army South), lead each one or two archers into a number of secret passages, which lead to outcrops of the Lonely Mountain, more than half of which had been turned into small gardens by Royal Consort Bilbo and Lady Tauriel in the last sixty years. There the spy would act as lookout, while the archers prepared. Stiarna would be the first to shoot, a specially crafted arrow with a diamond tip, created to pierce through almost any armor; it would also reflect the light of the stars as it flew through the air, acting as signal for all the other archers to fire. They had to do it right before dawn came, when they were least likely to be seen (even with rocks, the brush and some plants to hide them, it was a dangerous plan).

So the plan was made, almost a dozen archers assembled. It was until the last of them left, leaving Aska and Stiarna as the final pair, that the half-dwarf, half-human realized something:

"You assigned all the lateral outcrops..." She murmured.

"Yes." Stiarna nodded, knowing what her friend must be realizing, but refusing to say it herself.

"Where will you be going?" Aska inquired.

"Where I need to, to be able to truly cut off the head of the snake." The princess replied, somewhat evasively.

"You would need to be at the front, and pretty high for the arrow to be able to travel that far..." The spy began, a hint of hesitation entering her voice for the first time.

"I also need to be in the middle if I want all the other archers to see my arrow." Her friend agreed.

"There is only one place that would fulfill all those requirements..." Aska actually closed her eyes tightly in a grimace. "You cannot possibly be thinking..."

"I'm not thinking, I'm doing it." Stiarna corrected, even as she began walking.

"But it's insane!" The spy almost shrieked. "The ledge.. it's crazy! It's hard enough to get up there, there's a reason why it wasn't turned into another part of the garden. That spot also has no shielding, none at all, it's on full view. The moment you shoot your arrow, that will be it, you'll be seen, and shot at. And you won't be able to get back down, not without getting killed!"

"It's what needs to be done Aska..." The princess's voice sounded completely solemn as she spoke. "You know I am right... will you help me do this?"

"Argg..." Aska hissed a few choice words in khuzdul under her breath. "We're both going to get killed for this, you know? If the Easterlings don't kill us, your parents for sure will! Or maybe my Uncle Dori!"

Stiarna didn't reply to that, just smiled, she'd known she could count on her best-friend...

The moon had left the sky, and far in the East, beyond the Iron Hills, the first rays of sun could be seen. It was enough to make Stiarna hurry. She secured the quiver of diamond tipped arrows to her back, her specially crafted bow on her shoulder (not the same she'd used as a child, but that too had been commissioned by her adad, just for her). She slipped out of the mountain through a hole that could never be seen in the distance, carefully twisting to take hold of a conveniently placed rock, and then she began climbing, finding rocks where to place hands and feet. It was just a few feet, and then she reached the ledge. It was, in essence, a rock, about five feet wide and three or so long. Like Aska had mentioned before, it had nothing that could be used as cover, just the rock itself where Stiarna was standing. It was also the perfect vantage point, as her sharp eyes allowed her to see the General of the Easterling army as he climbed back onto the mumakil he usually rode, ready for the next day of siege.

Stiarna knew time was of essence. They had the advantage of surprise, but once the sun was out it would be harder to hide. She also knew the General needed to be taken out before any of their enemies realized something was going on (hence her being on that ledge).

"Stiarna..." Aska hissed from where she was playing lookout (head barely poking out of the hole on the mountain wall).

"Stay there." The princess hissed back. "This'll all be over in no time at all."

She knew it was insane, yet also knew that the time for turning back had passed. And even if she could, she wouldn't. It wasn't about her pride, or her wish to fight; it was about her desire to protect those she cared for, to look after her loved ones, like her family always did. So she took a deep breath and then she stood, swiftly and smoothly; bow already in her right hand, the first arrow on her left; by the time she was standing straight her bow was in position, the arrow being drawn already. Stiarna took careful aim, waiting a handful of seconds until the sun began rising from behind the Iron Hills, the rays hitting the Easterlings, and serving well to mark her target. She pulled the bowstring tight, until it was touching the corner of her lip; then she let out a breath, releasing the bow at the same time.

The arrow flew, fast and true, finding its target, straight across the General's throat (right above his mail, but below the helmet). He was dead before he knew what was going on. And by the time his underlings realized anything, nearly a dozen more arrows were hitting a number of others targets across the valley.

Strong as the princess's satisfaction was at achieving her goal; she knew she couldn't stop. So, with that in mind, she immediately drew the next arrow, and fired, one after the other, never stopping, never slowing down. She didn't aim too carefully anymore, just shooting down as many as she could. She managed to fire almost half a dozen times before enemy archers became aware of her, and of the other archers posted around the mountain. It wasn't hard for them to realize she was the most vulnerable, and soon she was being fired at.

Thankfully, someone standing guard at the gates noticed when the Easterling captains began falling, to arrows coming from the Lonely Mountain. The remains of the army were marshaled in record time, and soon enough the battle was on. It would all end that day.

It was about an hour or so until all kinds of bolts finally stopped flying and Bofur scaled the front of the mountain to the ledge. Aska couldn't do it, as one of the rocks thrown by the catapults had hit the edge of the tunnel where she'd been, causing her to crack her head open. She would recover, but was in no state to climb the mountain wall to her friend. She also lost consciousness briefly, and it was until she woke that everyone realized where Stiarna had shot from, and that she was still there.

Bofur found the girl (she was almost sixty, yet looked to be in her early twenties), was curled up in what looked like the border of the ledge; which had been reduced to half its width or so, the rest having collapsed under the weight of several rocks. Part of her hair was matted with blood and plastered to the side of her head (probably a rock); and there were a number of cuts on her arms and legs (nothing life-threatening, thankfully).

It took a while, but eventually the dwarves found a way to get Stiarna off the ledge and to the closest garden (it would have been too dangerous to try and get her back into the tunnel she and Aska had used first); that specific garden had an actual door, and from there she was carried straight to the healer's ward, where her wounds were seen to.

That day, Stiarna Stareyes became a legend, not just for Erebor, but for all of Rhovanion. They called her the Archer, they called her the Guardian of Erebor, and some even called her Princess Diamant (an old form of saying diamond, for the tip of her arrows). She was the one who'd taken down the General of the Easterlings, 'cut off the head of the snake', in a sense. She made sure everyone knew it hadn't been just her, though, if it weren't for all the archers working together, and for the army that had chosen to fight one more time, they'd have never broken the siege.

The families had indeed almost had a heart attack afterwards. Stiarna would never forget the near-shouted lecture her uncle Thorin had dished out on her, not even her parents had reacted like that upon hearing what had happened (then again, they didn't see her as she was when Bofur got her off the ledge). It was until later that night that her Uncle Bilbo explained.

"What you need to understand, little star, is that as angry as your uncle Thorin might seem, the things he said, the way he yelled, all that, he did not do out of anger, but out of fear." The old hobbit explained as he ran a hand carefully through Stiarna's clean auburn hair. "Your plan... the way Aska explained it to us... it was essentially the same he made all those years ago."

"I know..." Stiarna had based her own plan on that one.

"And do you remember how that plan ended?" Bilbo interrupted her in a soft but chastising tone. "Your uncle Fili died, and both your father and Thorin would have as well, if it weren't for great miracles and the intervention of the merciful lady..."

"Mesemu-Amdâr..." Stiarna used the name the dwarrows favored for her.

"Yes." Bilbo nodded. "When Aska first woke up and told us what you'd done. I know a part of us was extremely proud of you, of what you'd achieved... learning where you'd been, that you were still there... I'm quite sure I wasn't the only one who feared what we would find when we got there. Especially with the catapults the Easterlings used."

"It needed to be done." Stiarna insisted. "I needed to protect Erebor..."

"I know sweetheart, I know." Bilbo pressed his forehead to hers. "I understand the need to protect those you care for, especially when it feels like they won't let you... Doesn't mean I don't worry about you as well, we all do. You're so young still Stiarna... and I know that you're an adult now, and quite capable of making your own choices... but you could be as old as your mother, you could be older than me and I would still worry about you. I will always worry about my family, Stiarna, we all will. It doesn't mean we don't believe you capable of doing things, of being strong, and brave and helping us all... it just means you're so precious to us, we're terrified to lose you. So many lives have been lost these days, and it hurts..." His voice broke slightly. "But as much as what's going on hurts, losing you would have been much, much worse."

"I'm sorry for worrying you uncle..." She whispered after what seemed like forever.

She would never be sorry for what she did, for fighting for Erebor... but she was sorry for making those she wanted to protect, those she loved, worry so much. Bilbo seemed to understand what she wasn't saying, as much as what she was, and he accepted it (he knew there was nothing that would change her mind).

"I love you, kêlthatru (little star)." Bilbo whispered, placing a kiss on his niece's brow.

"Love you, uncle Bilbo..." She whispered back, already falling asleep.

Many things changed for Stiarna after that day, that battle, yet two were the truly important ones in her mind, beyond the respect, the praise, the pride and the titles; first was her new braid. Beyond the plaits of family, status and rank (which she already had), there were also those that were worn by the warriors. A very specific kind of braid signaled a warrior among the dwarrows, with slight variants depending on their weapon of choice. Except... there had never been a braid for an archer, because until her father, there were no dwarrow archers; and even then her father was also an apt swordsman, and that plait had sufficed. That changed after the battle of Dale, a braid was created to signal an archer, she was the first to ever have it fixed into her hair; though both her parents soon followed.

The other unexpected change came around a year later. Gimli had just announced his intentions to travel across Middle-Earth, to get to see new places, new people, with none other than Legolas Greenleaf as his companion. The biggest surprise came when he offered Stiarna a chance to join them. She had no idea if it had been his idea, or the elf's, but the half-dwarf would never forget his friend's words that night:

"We may both have dwarrow blood in our veins, but we do not belong inside a mountain, my princess." In the past he'd used her title as a sign of respect, but it'd long since become an endearment. "I... I have seen so much, such amazing beauty, such great wonder, under starry skies and ceilings of leaves that the depths of the earth are no longer enough. And you... I have a feeling they've never been enough for you."

He was right, even if Stiarna would never admit it out-loud. She'd never felt truly fulfilled living inside the Lonely Mountain (it was no coincidence that she spent so much time in Dale). So the young princess agreed and, with her parents' blessing, she packed a bag, her weapons, and left Erebor to travel through Arda.

**xXx**

The princess of Erebor spent the next decade going from one corner to the other of Middle-Earth in the company of Legolas and Gimli. She had a lot of fun, and got the chance to meet a great many people, of all races, like the rest of the members of the Fellowship of the Ring, including King Elessar Telcontar, who was actually a distant relative of hers, and his match and Queen Arwen Undómiel. He also met many others, like King Éomer of Rohan, prince Faramir of Ithilien and his wife, Princess Éowyn Názgul-Slayer, the Ent Treebeard of Fangorn, the twins sons of Lord Elrond (and brothers of Arwen) Elladan and Elrohir, among many others.

Their journeys actually began in Rivendell, where they attended Frodo's and Bilbo's birthday. It was an opportunity for Stiarna to see her cousin again, see how much he'd changed... she also got to say goodbye to him (she was the first person Frodo told he was leaving Middle-Earth, about the opportunity that was being offered to him). They were still in Imladris when it was decided that both Thorin and Bilbo would be accompanying them.

Their travels didn't have much order, the three friends simply went where the mood struck them. Sometimes liking a place and staying a fortnight, a month, or maybe even more; sometimes only staying long enough to rest for a few hours before moving on.

After ten years or so, they went back to Rhovanion. It wasn't planned, but the yearly raven that carried Stiarna messages from her family, that day included one from King Thranduil to his son. He was leaving. The King was getting on a ship and sailing west, someone needed to take charge in Mirkwood.

So the trio returned to their homes. And that was when the princess got her first surprise. When she arrived to the Lonely Mountain to find several dwarves (both male and female) walking around with a certain braid in their hair... an archer braid.

"Everyone wants to be like you, Princess Diamant!" Aska teased her the moment she had the chance. "The great Stiarna Stareyes, the Archer, the one who killed the leader of the Easterling army and broke a three-day long siege... It's been extremely funny at times, actually. To see all the dwarflings approaching the King and Queen, and sometimes King Bard and other humans, looking for someone to teach them archery. You will probably be approached soon."

Stiarna didn't quite believe it at first, until no less than two dozen dwarrows (half of them past the age of maturity) approached her at varied times, trying to convince her to teach them. Some even had an archer-plait already, but they were all so convinced that she was a great hero, and ought to teach them anyway. Some even went as far as taking gifts to her, either products of their own crafts, gems they'd mined, anything. It was odd, to be stared at, respected, almost worshiped, not because of her circumstances of birth, but because of the one thing she'd chosen for herself.

The situation, while odd, kept Stiarna busy and, in a sense, entertained for several years. Even if she no longer felt that she fit in the Lonely Mountain; she enjoyed teaching others archery, having their respect, their regard. She also enjoyed spending time with her family and her friends, dwarves, humans and elves.

A number of years passed, and while Stiarna still enjoyed being Princess Diamant, she couldn't help but feel anxious again, a desire for something different, something new. And then it came, in the form of yet another proposition from Legolas Greenleaf: Thranduil was gone, but not all the elves had gone with him. Even then, the prince did not wish to stay. During the trio's travels a plan had begun forming, of a new settlement in the White Mountains, half in the mountains themselves, half in the neighboring forest; a mixed settlement (at least dwarves and elves; though with Gondor on one side of the mountains, and Rohan on the other, humans would end up involved as well). Even then, not all elves were quite ready to live in such a way, and while some had decided to move to Imladris or what was left of Lothlórien; some were quite insistent on remaining in Greenwood (the forest had returned to its old name after the end of Sauron and his darkness). Yet for such a thing to be possible, someone needed to rule.

"You want me to be ruler of Mirkwood?!" Such was her shock that Stiarna's voice went through two octaves as she said those words.

"You would be considered a Regent, the Lady of Mirkwood." Legolas did his best to explain. "It is only right. Ever since the War of the Ring it's become known that your mother is a distant cousin of mine..."

"From our wood-elf mother." Tauriel punctuated. "K... Lord Thranduil would never approve."

"He doesn't need to." The blonde prince insisted. "I approve. It's up to me now. The elves staying are all wood-elves as well, so it's not like they'll have any problem with it."

"I'm not even a century old!" Stiarna's voice was still too high. "You cannot expect others to follow someone they will see as nothing more than a child."

"They've seen you fight spiders beside us, they will follow you." Legolas stated.

Kili's eyes widened, while Tauriel just shook her head. Neither of them had been exactly aware of the extent their daughter got up to in her escapades to the forest (both before and after her travels with Legolas and Gimli), yet her mother wasn't exactly surprised.

"It was actually Voronwë's idea." The blonde added for good measure.

That gave Stiarna pause. Voronwë was the oldest of the remaining Greenwood elves, he was also the Captain of the Guard... if such an elf was willing to follow Stiarna's lead. Also, while she wouldn't acknowledge it out-loud, there was a part of her that rejoiced at the idea not only of living in Greenwood, but of holding such a position as the one being offered to her. A position where she would be more than just someone's sister...

"I'll do it." She said before she was even fully conscious of it.

Kili's eyes widened again, Tauriel let out a breath, while Legolas simply smiled, he'd known she would say that... eventually.

So Stiarna Stareyes, princess of Erebor, became Stiarna Diamant, Lady of Greenwood. She liked it. Not actually the power, but being in a new environment. Even if she was shorter than any other elf, she looked enough like them not feel too out of place, and her choice of weapons fit as well; her plaits were different, but just enough to make her look somewhat exotic; no comment was ever made of the scar that went from beneath her hairline (above her temple) to just the edge of her eyebrow, everyone knew the story.

Living in Greenwood allowed her a level of freedom she'd never had in Erebor, a sense of independence she greatly enjoyed. At the same time she was close enough to Esgaroth and the Lonely Mountain to stay in touch with those she loved. In particular she took great joy in teasing her brother and best friend in turn, for them to be each other's One! Even if neither Aska nor Fili had acknowledged it, Stiarna could just see it, plain as the stars, to her eyes.

**xXx**

Good as the arrangement was, though, it was never meant to last forever. Years passed, a number that humans would consider to be many, though it wasn't s for elves, not even for dwarves. Eventually the elves left Greenwood, some to live in other cities; though most had decided they were ready to leave Middle-Earth.

Stiarna, for her part, had decided she wasn't ready to go back to Erebor. So, after a quick visit and goodbye to her family and friends, she went back to her travels.

She traveled for many, many years (so many she lost count eventually) going to places where she'd been before, with Legolas and Gimli, and others where she hadn't. She met many people in her travels, many were elves even, some choosing to travel like her, though most were (either fast or slowly) making their their way to the Grey Havens, and to the ships that would take them to Valinor. Stiarna never gave them her name, or any of her titles, but eventually they began calling her by one: Randír, the Wanderer. And that was exactly what she had become.

Every so often she would go back to Rhovanion, to Erebor (not Dale, not anymore, not since Bard tried to convince her to stay, tried to convince her to marry him, and she refused). She was surprised every time to learn Aska and Fili weren't together yet; though she guessed that their respective training might get in the way (after all, he was the heir to the throne, and she was slowly taking over as spy-master, as Nori became too old to handle it all).

Aside from the Lonely Mountain, Stiarna mostly avoided places with people she knew. Afraid someone would outright ask her what it was she was doing, why she didn't seem to be able to stop her wanderings... she had no idea what she could answer (or perhaps, perhaps she was simply too afraid of the answer to admit to it).

Eventually she lost track of her travels, made it to the White Mountains without really planning it. It was Gimli who found her, lost and half asleep. He scooped her up (she was so weak she couldn't even resist), and carried her to the home he shared with his old friend. Legolas was as worried about her as Gimli was, and it was he who insist that she stay where she was (when she'd been all for taking off the moment she woke up and could stay awake for more than a handful of minutes). The elven lord seemed to recognize that she wouldn't talk of what was wrong with her, but still insisted that she stay.

It was supposed to be a visit, but it soon became more than that. Before she fully realized it, Stiarna was practically fully installed in the White Mountains, living in private apartments within Legolas's and Gimli's own home. She knew in Esgaroth it would be seen as improper, an unattached woman living with two men; but no one commented on anything. Soon enough she was being called Lady Stiarna of the White Mountains and the Grey Forest, she was once again teaching archery to a bunch of younglings (some from right there in their settlement, but others from Rohan and Gondor); she had a life.

Of course, nothing ever lasted forever (her uncles taught her that), not the bad, and certainly not the good. For the most part, during her wanderings, Stiarna had made sure to go back to Erebor every couple of years or so; at least until the last few years, when she pretty must lost count of anything (time, space, nothing seemed to really matter). Once fully installed with Legolas and Gimli she began sending messages to her family again, but didn't seem to be able to find the time to travel again. She wasn't blind, she knew that all the younglings insisting on extra lessons, or one of her friends declaring they needed her help with some urgent matter precisely a day or two before she would have left was part of their plan not to let her go (they were probably afraid she would end up in an even worse state than the last time); in the end she was so happy where she was she didn't really try too hard. And her family accepted her choices. For some time.

It'd seemed like the usual routine at first. A raven carrying a message bearing the royal seal of Erebor... until she actually read the words in it. Her mind was still processing the last word when she dropped the scroll and ran straight for her rooms. By the time Gimli and Legolas caught up with her she had a bag packed and was reaching for her weapons.

"You leaving without saying goodbye, lass?" Gimli asked, suddenly standing in her way.

Stiarna froze, she really hadn't thought about it.

"I need to go Gimli, I..." She couldn't find the right words.

As it turned out, she didn't need to. Legolas passed the letter to her and she realized, without a word being said, that he'd read it; probably not all of it, but enough to understand.

"I've ordered a horse readied." The elven lord informed her. "It's a Mearas, it should bear you all the way to Esgaroth, you'll make good time. If you cross the Anduin at the North Undeep you can then go south of Greenwood, through the Brown Lands. Not the most favorable path to take, but certainly the fastest. Things aren't as dangerous as they were the last age, and I trust you can look after yourself well-enough."

The princess nodded, secretly glad that Legolas wasn't trying to be over-protective.

"You better send a raven to us once you get there lassie, make sure you're right." Gimli said in a stern (and obviously worried) tone.

"I promise you, Gimli." She nodded.

And that was that, she was instantly running in the direction of the stables. Letter clutched tightly in her hand. The letter written by her Nadadith (little brother), who informed her that their Adad had fallen very ill... he wasn't long from the world.

So Stiarna rode, for days on end, hardly ever stopping to rest, eating and drinking little (at least she had lembas, that helped). She made it to the Lonely Mountain in record time. Soon she found out that things weren't quite as bad as Fili had made them seem. While their father was indeed quite ill, he wasn't going to die quite so soon. He still had a handful of years left in him.

However, one thing did become clear very fast, and it was that he couldn't stay on the throne anymore. It was dangerous for an ailing dwarf to remain King, it might send a bad message; and while things weren't as bad as they'd been with the Stiffbeards or the old Master in Laketown, there was still trouble every now and then. Which is why, shortly after Stiarna's return to Erebor it was decided that Fili II would be taking the throne.

The ceremony was much like the one the young princess had witnessed over a century before, when her parents had taken the throne, except there was only her brother. And then, then came one thing very different: when her brother declared Durin VII, son of Thorin III Stonehelm (son of Dáin Ironfoot and Lord of the Iron Hills) as his heir; as well as announcing that he would never have a Queen.

The princess only waited until the ceremony was over and the party was well underway to slip out of the Main Hall and into the first secret passageway she could find. She knew them well-enough, being Aska's best-friend. It took her no time at all to find the Spy-Mistress, sitting on her heels, on a balcony of sorts that overlooked the party.

"Want to explain me what that was?" The auburn-haired asked before taking a seat beside her friend, completely ignoring her elegant dress.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Aska said in a blank tone.

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about." Stiarna retorted. "Why did my brother just announce he was never giving Erebor a Queen?"

"Why should I know?" The brunette shrugged. "It's not like I was the one who said those words."

"I've spent the last century, ever since my brother became off-age, waiting for the moment the two of you would announce your marriage." Stiarna confessed. "And now I hear this..."

"He did offer me marriage." The spy admitted, in a voice so low her friend almost couldn't hear her. "I turned him down."

"You did what?!" The princess almost screeched.

"You turned down King Brand when he proposed to you all those years ago!"

"He wasn't my One! He wasn't even in love with me, just fascinated because of my looks, my connection to his father, and what happened in the Battle of Dale. Which became quite obvious when he met that merchant girl from Rhudaur and went crazy in love with her." She shook her head, taking a deep breath. "Brand wasn't my One, I'm not even sure I have a One... but you do. You and my brother are a match, why then would you turn him down?"

"What is the first duty of any Queen to her King?"

"What...? What are you talking about Aska?"

"The first duty any Queen has to her King, is to give him an heir. I cannot do that." The brunette pressed a hand to her middle. "Ever since that assassination attempt, in Laketown, over a century ago, remember?"

Stiarna closed her eyes tight. She would never be able to forget. It had been the first time any of the younger generation had been on an official trip anywhere other than Dale. At first things seemed to be going well, until Fili had decided he wanted to see more of the place than the 'formal tours' they were being lead on. When he'd seen the awful conditions some of the people lived in, he'd been furious. Demanding how the Master and the 'nobles' could live so well, while others were practically starving. It'd created a huge diplomatic situation, and had necessitated Stiarna calling both their parents and King Báin to help deal with things. She'd hoped they would be able to handle things; never expected someone to actually try to assassinate her brother that same night. Except somehow Aska found out, she knew and she moved to protect Fili, ending with a sword through her stomach for her trouble. Fili almost went ballistic, not to say their families' reactions upon arrival.

In the end it had been a diplomatic mess of epic proportions, Fili had been beside himself, and her best friend almost died, Stiarna would never forget that day.

"I know we never discussed it, but that injury had consequences." Aska said quietly. "I might have survived... but not all of me did. That sword destroyed my womb. I will never have a child. If I were to marry Fili, I would never be able to give him children."

"So... you won't marry him because you can't give him children..." The princess tried very hard to wrap her head around it all. "Yet he just announced he won't be taking a Queen. So there won't be any heirs coming from him anyway!"

"You're not getting it Stiarna." The brunette shook her head.

"Then explain it to me, please!"

"You know who I am, what I am..."

"Spy-Mistress."

"Exactly. You must also be able to realize that if I were to become Queen, I would have to give up being Spy-Mistress, I can either be one or the other but not both..." She took a deep breath. "I would be no good as a Queen, unable to fulfill the most basic duty of one. But I can do good where I am right now. As the head of the spy-network. I can help Fili from here, more than I ever would sitting on a throne... so here is where I'll stay."

Stiarna opened her mouth, then closed it again, as the truth suddenly dawned on her, it left her completely breathless.

"So you won't marry my brother so you can stay as his Spy-mistress and protect him better?"

"Who said anything about not marrying?" The brunette's smirk was sly. "He vowed not to take a Queen, nothing was ever said about a match..."

Stiarna smiled brightly as the rest of it hit her.

"Will you be a witness for us?" Aska sealed the deal with her request. "Tonight?"

And so it was that, in the middle of the night, Fili II, son of Kili and Tauriel, King of Erebor, married Aska, daughter of Ori and Tilda, Spy-mistress of the Lonely Mountain, with only their direct families as witnesses and no record being taken. As far as Erebor, Esgaroth and the rest of the world would be concerned, Fili II would rule as a single King, until at the end of his life his cousin, Durin VII would take over the throne; no one but their closest kin would ever know that the figure concealed behind drapes, walking hidden passages and always protecting the King from the shadows was the love of his life, his One, the Queen of his heart.

**xXx**

Kili, son of Vili, sister-son of Thorin, once King Under the Mountain, died in his sleep just before Durin's Day, in the year 120 of the Fourth Age. Before going he'd said his goodbyes to his wife, daughter, son and daughter-in-law (secret) all the family he had left. The last words he heard from the love of his life being:

"I'll be joining you shortly, Astalder (valiant one), hervenn amin (husband mine)."

Kili was entombed the following day, with all the honors of a former King and hero of the Lonely Mountain, the last member of the Company that reclaimed Erebor to leave Middle-Earth... What some, anyone not living in the Lonely Mountain or Dale, might have found most curious was that his tomb wasn't only surrounded by all manner of jewels, but also by blossoms (the greatest show of the influence a hobbit as Royal Consort had had). Cyclamens for resignation and goodbye, Tiger Lilies for Pride, Magnolia for Nobility, White Poppies for their search of Consolation, Mixed Zinnias for the Remembrance of the Absent Friend, Sweet-Peas for Goodbye; and many, many dark crimson roses for mourning.

It hadn't been long since the end of the vigil and other funerary rites when a message arrived for the Dowager Queen, from her old friend Arwen Undómiel: along with her own condolences for the loss of Kili, were the news of the passing of Arwen's own husband, Aragorn (King Elessar Telcontar) and the ascension of their only son (though they had three daughters too): Eldarion, to the throne of Gondor. Stiarna got a message stating similar things from Legolas and Gimli around the same time.

Tauriel left the Lonely Mountain a little over a year after the death of her mate, traveling with no company but that of her daughter Stiarna. The two crossed Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains, arriving to Lothlórien in a relatively short time. The woods were almost completely empty, no more elves were living in the once Golden Woods, as most had left in the course of the previous century. Stiarna actually knew that even most of those living in the Grey Forest had left in the previous decade; she doubted any were left beside her own mother and Legolas (even Arwen's brothers had long since left Imladris and Arda as a whole).

They were eventually joined by the former Queen of Gondor at the top of Cerin Amroth. Little was left of the lady who'd once been called the Evenstar of her people, the most beautiful she-elf in all of Arda. Instead the woman before Stiarna in that moment was the perfect picture of the grieving widow, and not only that, but a woman already with one foot on the other world. That was what they were doing there, after all, Arwen Undómiel had chosen that hill to be her last resting place, the very spot where she'd sworn eternal love to her dear Aragorn, so many years before, where she'd promised him her hand in marriage.

And so the three women sat there, talking quietly in elvish about their lives. It was the first (and only) time that Stiarna talked about her time as Randír (Wanderer), about all the places she'd seen and the things she'd done (though she never breathed a word about what exactly pushed her to the extreme Gimli and Legolas eventually found her in).

Night came, and as the last light of the evening gave way to darkness, Arwen's breathing slowed until it wasn't there anymore, same with the beating of her heart. Then it was up to Stiarna to dig a hole deep enough to lay the dead queen in, topped by Symbelmine and Nimphrethils. It was a good grave, even if the day would come when no one would know it was a grave; it had been Arwen's choice, and that made it alright.

One single thought kept repeating itself in the young princess's head as mother and daughter rode back to the Lonely Mountain. Her mother was leaving... Stiarna had known all along it would happen, from the very moment when she'd woken to learn her father had passed away in his sleep. Already Tauriel had held on longer than Stiarna could have ever expected. It wasn't that the Peredhel looked old, not at all, she looked... ageless, in fact, always had (probably due to her elven heritage). But the choice had been made when she married Kili. And just like Arwen had lost her tether to the world when Aragorn was gone, it was the same for Tauriel without Kili. Grief would take her soon.

Arrangements had been made already, in fact. A family meal took place upon their return to the mountain, and afterwards Tauriel went on a last walk, all by herself, through her Starlight Path (even with all the gardens that had been built in the last 180 years, some with many more flowers and trees than the Path could hold, there was none she would ever love more than the one her match had gifted her on their wedding day).

After a quiet but heartfelt goodbye to Fili and Aska, Tauriel asked to be left alone with Stiarna. There were things that still needed to be said, and little time left to say them.

"Legolas and Gimli are coming tomorrow." The Dowager Queen said with no warning. "They know I won't be here any longer, by the time they arrive. What goodbyes needed to be said between us have been said already."

"Nana (Mama)...?" Stiarna had always preferred the elvish word for referring to her mom (just like she used the khuzdul one for her dad).

"They aren't coming here for me, little one, but for you." Tauriel revealed.

Stiarna could do nothing but freeze in shock, either not understanding, or just refusing to register what it was her mother meant with that.

"You are my daughter, Stiarna, my dear child, Silmëiel (daughter of starlight)." Tauriel murmured while caressing her daughter's face. "I know all about you, even the things you dare not admit to, not even inside your own mind. I know that the name Randír is one that terrifies you as much as it fills you with pride. You fear that's all you'll ever be, a Wanderer, fated to forever wander Middle-Earth, never able to find a true home..."

"I... I don't fit Nana (Mama)..." Stiarna admitted with a heart-wrenching sob. "I... I'm not like Fili, or like Aska. I love Erebor, with all my heart... but it just isn't my home. And the only home I've ever found is emptying even now... I have nothing... I am nothing..."

"Don't ever say that." Tauriel scolded. "Never. You are many things Stiarna."

"I'm not like Adad (Father), nor am I like you..."

"No, you're not. Then again, even though I look very much like my mother, I was always more like my father. I might have lived six and a half centuries like an elf, but it was until I met your adad (father) that I truly found myself, that I was free to be myself. I was born a Peredhel, and I've chosen to live and soon die like a mortal. The vows I've taken will allow me to join Kili, and there's nothing I'll ever want more." She let out a hopeful sigh. "But it was never meant to be like that for you. You, my dear girl, are more like my mother than I ever was..."

Stiarna watched her with a mix of wonder and confusion.

"You have the light of the stars in your eyes, Lirimaer (lovely one)..." Tauriel said, as if that explained everything.

And truth was, for her it did. It was something Tauriel Peredhel had known from the moment she'd first laid eyes on Stiarna as a newborn baby. Even when the color of her eyes changed from the usual baby blue-green to the deep hazel and her bright-red hair darkened to the auburn a couple of shades darker than her mother; that light had always been there.

"Your eyes hold the light of the Eldar." Her mother explained with a quiet smile. "They always have, from the moment you first opened them to the world. I knew it from the very start, so did your 'adad (father)."

"Does that... what does that mean?" Stiarna didn't dare assume anything.

"You're an elf, my dear, have always been." Tauriel finally revealed. "Of course, like me you are Peredhel. Which means that, in the end, the choice is only yours... but I think you made that choice a long time ago, didn't you?"

"Nana..." Stiarna didn't know how to answer that, yet knew there was no need, her mother truly knew her like no one else ever had, or would.

"I spoke with Legolas many years ago, right after Aragorn's coronation in fact." Tauriel explained softly. "Even back then he was already planning on taking a group of elves and settle somewhere near Gondor, to help restore the kingdom. He'd also already decided that, even though he felt the call of the Sea and had since the War, he wouldn't be leaving Middle-Earth for Valinor until Aragorn had passed. Which has already happened. Considering the time he must be finished building the ship by now..."

"What about Gimli?" Stiarna blurted out, not quite understanding what was going on.

"I don't fully understand that." Her mother admitted. "But I believe he was given leave by the Lady Galadriel to go to Valinor. It's the only time something like that has ever happened..."

Aside from Thorin Oakenshield, of course, though that was a whole other story; Gimli had earned his place all on his own, probably by being one of the first dwarrows to make peace with the elves, fully putting behind any old animosities (no one else would have ever considered being co-ruler of a mixed settlement, after all), ad then there was his obvious admiration and regard for the Lady of the Golden Wood.

"That still doesn't explain..." Stiarna began, either unable or simply refusing to see the obvious.

"He's coming to offer you a place on that ship, if you want it." Tauriel finally said.

"But Nana... Fili..." Stiarna's voice broke.

"Your brother is old enough and a King now." Her mother reminded the princess. "He also has Aska... And this is a choice you must make for yourself. You must choose what makes you happy, Stiarna... What do you want?"

"I... I want to belong Nana... I want to find a place I can call home."

"You already have. And I don't mean Erebor. Home isn't a place, it's the people you feel most comfortable with. Those you know can accept all of you..."

"You and Adad have always accepted me..."

"True as that might be, I must admit we never fully understood you. And as much as I know that was no fault, of yours or ours... I still regret that it was so. Kili regretted it too, it pained him to know you weren't at peace in Erebor. It's why he never tried to call you back when you would travel, or when you chose to stay in the Greenwood all those years." She shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh. "We never said anything because we knew it made you happy."

"Greenwood was never my home either. Not really."

"Maybe not. But I know you've found a home, I can see it in you..."

"Legolas and Gimli... They... they're my home."

"Then I guess we already know what your next choice will be."

They knew indeed, in a sense, it had been the only right choice from the very start. And much as Tauriel might regret not being able to better help her daughter during her life, she wouldn't regret the time they got together. A part of the Peredhel had known from the start the kind of separation the two of them would have to face one day; maybe that was why she'd never said a thing about Stiarna being more elf than anything else... maybe she just wanted her daughter to make her own discoveries and her own choices. At least she knew her girl wouldn't be alone, she had friends, family of choice who would look after her, would be by her side... yes, all was good, and Tauriel could finally let go, in peace.

**xXx**

Tauriel of the Starlight Path, daughter of Dirhael and Tawar, Lady of the Dúnedain, former Captain of Mirkwood, wife of Kili, Dowager Queen of Erebor, passed away that same night. A soft smile in her face, for her children's future was secure, and she was going to meet her husband, where they would never be separated again.

Legolas and Gimli arrived early in the morning and, thanks to the agreement of both King Fili II and Lady Stiarna Stareyes, were welcomed in the funerary rites and the vigil (which was hardly ever allowed to anyone not direct kin... but Legolas was the closest thing Tauriel had to family, aside from her children, and they knew that).

Once the rites were over and Tauriel had been laid to rest in a tomb beside her husband (both covered in flowers and gems), Stiarna began her own preparations. Neither Fili nor Aska seemed exactly surprised at what she'd chosen. Truth was that both of them had known for a long time that Stiarna wasn't meant to stay in the Lonely Mountain; even if neither of them had known exactly what she'd do, they'd realized that much.

"I knew it a long time ago, nana' (sister)..." Fili whispered as he embraced her tightly. "Much as you might have been born inside this mountain, it was never truly your home."

"You must know I love you nadadith (little brother)..." Stiarna hurried to reassure him.

"But that's not enough." He finished for her, not the slightest hint of reproach in his voice. "It could never be, not when I, when both Aska and I, will die in a century or so, while you have millennia ahead of you yet."

"I..." The princess just didn't know what to say.

It wasn't that she wished things were different; and maybe a part of her felt that was worse. That she didn't even wish she could fit as a dwarf, that she could have a mortal life; it wasn't what she really wanted (her mother had pointed out, after all, that it was her choice, and it had been made, to be a she-elf).

"Never regret your choices." Fili told her calmly. "Beyond Fate and Destiny, it's our choices that define us. The choices of many have brought us here, have allowed us to even be here." He smiled at his sister. "I made my choice, to love my One, to respect her choice not to be my Queen, for no one to know that she's my wife, my truest love... and to keep the throne like 'adad wished me to..."

That one had been hard, Stiarna could almost see the tension in him. It would have been so easy... to abdicate the throne, leaving it to their cousin, Thorin III Stonehelm, and be a simple dwarf (he had a craft, as a jeweler, and was good enough as a warrior, a swordsman, he could have made it), married to the Spy-mistress of Erebor... but that would have also meant forsaking everything their father had taught them. And it wasn't even about being King, not in itself, it was about watching over Erebor, and its dwarrows, protecting them, being not only a King Under the Mountain, but also its guardian (in that the siblings were very much alike)...

"And who knows? Maybe one day, when the world finally stops turning, when the time comes for the universe to be remade, Éru will see fit for us all to meet again..."

Stiarna nodded, a tear falling down her face, she liked that picture, the prospect of her whole family being together one day, it was certainly something to aspire to. She silently prayed for such a future to come true one day.

**xXx**

They left the following day. To Stiarna's endless surprise her departure not only was no secret, but it seemed almost like all of Erebor and Dale had gathered to watch her leave. She was dressed in her favorite clothes: an elven-styled short dress and tight leggings made of sturdy dwarven fabric, dwarven boots and an elven cloak. Her hair was down, perfectly brushed, adorned with every plait she'd ever earned (one for being Erebor's Princess, another for the Line of Durin, one for her status as Regent, her Archer one and a Hero one for her actions during the Battle of Dale; she also had a number of family braids with beads belonging to every clan that had been part of the Company, her own extended family).

The auburn-haired woman might have made her choice, decided where she belonged, but that did not mean she was about to forget her origins, her roots (odd as they might seem to anyone who hadn't lived in Rhovanion in the last 180 years).

She was Stiarna Stareyes, daughter of Kili and Tauriel, sister of Fili II (and Aska), Princess and Guardian of Erebor, Peredhel, the Archer, Princess Diamant, Lady of Greenwood, the Randír (Wanderer), Lady of the White Mountains and the Grey Forest... she was a dwarrowdam, a human lady and a she-elf, and even if she'd chosen to live as the latter, she would never forget she'd also been part of the former. She was proud of her heritage, and of her history (so many places she'd seen, so many things she'd done).

In the end, Stiarna was her own person, and like so many before, she'd made her choice, made her own Destiny...

* * *

><p>Since I've done this but I'm not sure I ever pointed it out, I'll say it now: the khuzdul comes from Neo-khuzdul dictionary, the elvish from the Parf Edhellen elvish dictionary online. Also, all the places were taken from the best Third Age Middle Earth map I could find online.<p>

From the moment Kili's and Tauriel's daughter first came to mind I decided two things: her name and the 'stareyes'. On her name, Stiarna is a viking word and it means Star, it was supposed to be a connection to her mother, the elves, the 'Starlight Path', and also to Eleana (Gift of the Stars) for being their savior (if indirectly); on the second. Some might notice that from the very beginning I described the girl as having stars in her eyes, it was always about her elven blood, I always knew she would be an elf in the end (like a sort of full circle, after Tauriel's own choice). Everything else came later on.

Stiarna is one of my favorite characters (even more so than Eleana). She and Aska are supposed to be examples of true hybrids (mixes of races), though with Stiarna herself it was harder. She represents what I believe everyone has felt at one point in their lives, like an Outsider, like they just don't fit. I hope I managed to portray all the sides of her personality alright. And in the end, her true home, in people, rather than a place.

As for the OCs pairing... I couldn't help myself! It just fit so well...

This could be considered the closing of the series. In fact, here in Ffnet, this will be the end of this fic. However... there's one more part coming (though it will be posted separately). Longer than any of the previous one. Because: first, because regardless of how hard I tried, there are a few things I just couldn't fit in any of these parts yet; second, it didn't occur to me until I was about to begin Wanderer that I hadn't written a single piece truly focused on Thorin and Bilbo, and they're supposed to be our main characters!

So, for the next and final part. When Thorin's and Bilbo's Fate was torn, it wasn't only their Tapestries that were rewoven but, one way or the other, so were those of everyone in Arda... They were chosen as the Hand of Destiny, and their story was anything but ordinary...


End file.
